


Unpack Your Heart

by kaycares



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 186,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaycares/pseuds/kaycares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or "The One with a Pup."</p><p>Slight AU College/Future Fic where Allison is still alive and nothing hurts. </p><p> Three weeks later, Malia doesn't shift. It's what separates her from Scott and Derek and all of the other wolves that have moved in and out of the pack (Except for Cora, according to Derek. Erica never gained enough control to figure out just how often she changed.). She always changes twice a month: once during the full moon along with the guys and then once somewhere in between. She always always shifts twice. At least, she always shifted twice. Until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Month

All she wants for her birthday is this trip. As of today, she can legally drink herself into (impossible) inebriation in the sunny state of California. And he's been interning with the Beacon Hills Bulletin long enough to buy her _almost_ anything she wants. But all she wants is to go camping. 

So he tells Scott who tells Allison who comes home from Stanford for the weekend. And when he hears her roommate is coming home with her, he invites Lydia too. (Lydia's agreement to go on a _camping_ trip after three days of thoughtful consideration is a surprise, but 1) after beginning to discover her own unique abilities during high school, she takes friendship or "packship" a little more seriously and 2) after a series of mistakes that cost Officer Parrish his job their senior year, it's harder to be shocked by Lydia). It isn't until after everyone else has agreed to go that he realizes this is his _girlfriend_ that he's talking about.

" _Everyone's_ coming?" Malia asks, scrunching up her nose in a way that he finds absolutely adorable when he delivers the news the Wednesday before they leave. As much as she's come to appreciate friendship and "packship," she still has this thing about him. As in, she prefers when it's just her and him. But she loves him - she loves him _a lot_. And when he promises to make it up to her - and then demonstrates once she's wearing a little less clothing - she's back to being like a kid on Christmas morning about this trip. And he is too, if he's honest. Because high school ended three years ago, and since then, it's been harder to get them all in the same place at once. So this is their weekend. 

And it is their weekend; they luck out with the weather, and Lydia and Allison only hit traffic once, so they almost leave on time. Even more impressive is Stiles's ability to keep his mouth shut when Lydia shows up with _Derek_? At first, he thinks it's her way of avoiding being the fifth wheel in the group, but then she spends the evening with her body in his lap and her tongue occasionally in his mouth, and one look at Scott confirms that this is front page worthy.

Lydia Martin and Derek Hale: who would've guessed?

Then again, who would've guessed he'd still be at home, his girlfriend a permanent resident in the guest room, thanks to his dad's generosity and a fair amount of begging, pleading, and bribing? But Stiles's loyalty has always been to Scott, and Scott's loyalty is to the pack, so when Scott chose to stay in Beacon Hills and having his best friend as his freshman roommate wasn't an option, Stiles turned down Berkeley and enrolled at City College with him. Added bonus: City College was the perfect place for Malia, too.

This whole wolf thing really changed them all, but none of them are complaining. 

Especially not tonight as they sit around the bonfire, swapping stories from the time they've spent apart and the memories they share. Like the story of Stiles's drunken proposal at one of a thousand graduation parties three summers ago that he and Scott major in Criminal Justice together, turning Beacon Hills into a real life Gotham _just, you know, with werewolves instead of Batman, Scott. But this could be huge, man. **Huge.** _ Even crazier is the fact that they both stuck to that promise once Stiles was much more sober. Allison shares horror stories from her latest experience shadowing a nurse in the ER (Stiles tunes most of those out because, seriously, better Allison than him), Lydia talks circles around her newest opportunity to try a real case without breaching confidentiality (at least, when she's breached her makeout session with Derek _freaking_ Hale), and Malia answers questions about her latest internship when they ask (She'll be great someday as a social worker at Eichen House, helping supernatural creatures like herself. It's refining her people skills - and patience - right now that's the biggest challenge). 

Mostly, Stiles watches the smile on his girlfriend's face and the easy way she curls up against his side, his arm around her waist. Four years later, she's far more human than coyote, but there are some things that will never change. And this forest will forever be the place where she is most herself. 

It's when Scott eventually puts the fire out and they're headed for their separate tents that Malia grabs his hand, pulling him away from the group. "Where we going?" he asks with a nervous laugh as she pulls him along, deeper and deeper into the woods and farther and farther from the comfort of having other human beings around. 

"You'll see." He tries to trust her inner coyote and her natural instincts, but he jumps at every rustle, every snapped twig, every hoot or growl. It's so dark, he can barely make out her shape in front of him when tree branches overhead grow thick.

The sound of her voice is nice, letting him know that she’s still there and not abandoning him to whatever creatures they’ve yet to meet lurking in these woods. So, he keeps talking. “Hey, did you know that Lydia was going to - oh, I don’t know - bring your cousin?” 

“No. We don’t talk about that stuff.” It’s not uncommon for Malia to spend time at Derek’s loft, especially with Peter in Eichen House and her cousin being the only family she likes, but Stiles never knows what goes on over there. He’s never understood anything about Derek, and at this point in his life, he figures it’s in his best interest to give up on trying. 

“What stuff? Your shared interests and hobbies? Your Friday night plans? Your birthday?” At the mention of her birthday, there’s a moment of panic. Because what if the Lydia thing is just coincidence, and Malia was the one to invite him? They rarely talk about her family, so he never knows if it’s loyalty or an actual interest in him that makes her spend so much time with Derek. But this is probably a question he should have asked. Like, before now. “Did you _want_ Derek here?” 

“No,” she answers without a moment’s hesitation, and he, in turn, immediately feels relieved. “It’s fine that he’s here, but Lydia brought him. And he doesn’t talk about Lydia, just like I don’t talk about you.” 

“You don’t talk about me?” 

“He asked me not to.” 

“Why would he ask you not to talk about me?” 

“He said he didn’t need to know what happens behind closed doors. But I told him your door’s not always closed when we -” 

“You know what? He’s right. You don’t have to talk about me. Or us. Or doors. Ever.” 

“Well, now I don’t want to talk about Derek.” She comes to a stop in a clearing, turning around to catch his mouth in the kind of kiss he's watched Lydia exchange with Derek _motherloving_ Hale all night. "It's my birthday," she reminds him when she finally pulls back, her voice husky and her eyes flashing that brilliant blue in the dark. Before he knows it, she has him backed against a tree. "This is what I want." 

"I want this too," he tells her in the few seconds he has before her lips are back on his, her hand cupping his jaw and gently guiding his mouth open. "I so want this, but you know, we could always go back to the tent..." 

She shakes her head against him, moving her mouth to trace his jawline. "I want you here. _Now._ " 

Trust him, his body is very much responding to her already, but there's another hoot or howl or something directly behind them, and even though she's got the hang of this turning thing down well enough to wolf out at a moment's notice, he feels like this could be a potentially bad idea. Not to mention the fact that it was a night just like this in these woods that now has his best friend set on staying in Beacon Hills forever. "We don't even know what's out here," he argues as he places his own hand beneath her much softer jaw, forcing her to look up at him. "For all we know, there could be a bear or - "

"But I can handle a bear." 

"I know, I know. But why take that risk? You don't have to -" But his voice is cut off by the groan she elicits from him when her hand has slipped down the front of his pants, her soft, slender fingers wrapped perfectly around him. "You know what? Here is great. Here is _perfect._ " 

She is perfect. She waits for no invitation before she takes a step back and proceeds to undress. She has enough of an attention span to sit through a lecture now. She's mastered the art of friendship, and she knows what's appropriate and what's not appropriate to say in mixed company. She doesn't panic over math anymore (though her required math class was twice as stressful for Stiles as it was for her), and she has actually found interests in more human things, like the clothes she wears or the books she reads or the pictures she adds to the wall in her room. And after living with him and his dad for the past three years, she can catch his _Star Wars_ references quicker than Scott. But she's still almost as impulsive as the day she met him - a habit he probably can't break her of because he's nearly as guilty as her. And she doesn't tell herself no. Ever. 

He admires her milky skin in the moonlight as she slowly sits down on the grass right in front of him. They're supposed to be celebrating her birthday, but this feels like a gift to him as she looks up with one eyebrow carefully raised, begging the question _what the hell is he still doing standing up against that tree fully clothed_? Which is a _really_ good question. He laughs to himself as he kicks off his shoes and ditches his own clothes nowhere near as gracefully as she did. Tripping over his jeans in the process, he finally makes his way over to her, and she wastes no time before pouncing. Literally. Hands against his chest, mouth attacking his, pushing him to the ground kind of pouncing. She's never shy, never unsure of herself, never embarrassed. And god, he loves her. He really does. 

A lot of things have changed about their relationship since they settled into these roles post-Eichen House and post-nogitsune. For one, they're roommates now, with the guest room at his house belonging to her. And they have a "no secrets" rule since the whole Peter debacle that should've been a given, but the rule is a good one to have. They've defined their roles to a certain extent: she likes it when he uses the word girlfriend, and though she doesn't use it often, when someone asks about him, she calls him her boyfriend. (Though, he knows that she considers him to be her mate, a fact that no longer freaks him out like it did once upon a time when he was a stupid 17 year-old.) He doesn't worry about upsetting her so much when she does something that drives him crazy in a bad way - not because he doesn't consider her feelings anymore, but because he knows she can take it, even likes to know when she does something wrong. And they're both really good about telling each other when something drives them crazy in the best way possible. In fact, if anything has stayed exactly the same, it's this. She still prefers to express herself physically, and he's yet to find a reason to ever say no. 

It's hard, but eventually, he takes control from her. Part of him feels guilty because it is her birthday so maybe he should just let her lead this time, but then he remembers it's her birthday and there are certain things he would like to do for her _because_ it is her birthday. Like kiss every inch of her tanned, moonlit skin while he makes his way down to that space between her thighs. Like use his tongue and his lips and his fingers while she arches her back and whines in a way that makes her seem more animal than girl. Like urge her on until she finally gives up that last shred of control and lets herself come with a howl that fills the night. Because that's what the birthday girl deserves. 

After that, he lets her take over again. She's eager to be the one leading their small pack of two then, her eyes flashing a bright blue in the pitch black of the woods. She guides him back up her body, pressing her mouth back against his own and growling, low and soft, when she tastes herself on his lips. Her hand comes between their bodies, gently wrapping around him like she seriously doubts he isn't already incredibly ready for her. In fact, he doesn't know if he can last more than a minute when her hand is so warm and soft and the sound of her very real howl is still ringing in his ears. And just when he thinks he's going to have to pull back, apologize, and let her know that he's weak, so very weak, and she needs to stop now, she shifts her hips against him in an unspoken invitation. And he does _not_ have to be told twice. 

He groans as she surrounds him, giving her a moment to get settled. She always lets him know when she's ready, which she does no more than a second later, pressing her hips closer and grinding against him. He rocks against her, very much aware of how tight her grip around his waist is and how warm her mouth is when she nips at his shoulder. She has a hard time giving up control, but he's aware of the way she takes his lead again now, letting him love her the way he wants to. Her soft purring starts to resemble more of a yelp when she comes close to that sweet, sweet release a second time that night, and he moves his hand between their bodies in response, pushing her that much closer. And when her body shudders around him, she howls a second time, enough to make him lose control just a few moments after her. 

She ends up on top afterwards because that's what she likes and it is, after all, her birthday. She's been fur-coat free for nearly four years, but her body that can grow so hot so quickly cools off just as fast. So she has a habit of clinging to him afterwards, curling herself against his body as she tries to steal some of his warmth for her own. Once again, he's yet to find a reason to complain. Tonight, she nips playfully at his chest before staring up at him with those big eyes that are no longer blue. "So?" he asks, with a slightly cocky half-smile of his own. Because he was there, and he has a feeling he knows the answer to this question already. "Was it a good birthday?" 

The thing is, he really does care about her answer. She missed out on a lot of birthdays alone in the woods, so for the past few he's spent with her, there's been this innate need to make it something special. That's why he wanted to take her out or buy her something she would love tonight, do something memorable for her. And when she told him this was what she wanted, then he wanted to make this perfect. The best camping trip she's ever been on - even if it might currently be the only group camping trip she's ever been a part of. But her smile is genuine and so huge when she nods excitedly in response, he feels like he can finally rest assured that he did good. He did _real_ good. 

"The best," she assures him before she kisses him again, biting playfully at his swollen bottom lip. "I love you." 

He can't help but smile at that, too. He was the one to tell her that he loved her first because she struggled with that word for so long. Because she understood the definition, but how did you teach someone the emotion you attached to it? And with her family situation the way it was and her lack of friends, it was hard to supply her with an example to pull from. But she learned in time, just like she's learned so many other things. And the way she uses the phrase so freely now has yet to grow old. He hopes she'll still use it like this in another four years. Hell, maybe even another forty if he's lucky. 

"Love you too. So much. _Seriously_ so much."  
\----- 

Three weeks later, Malia doesn't shift. 

It's what separates her from Scott and Derek and all of the other wolves that have moved in and out of the pack (Except for Cora, according to Derek. Erica never gained enough control to figure out just how often she changed.). She always changes twice a month: once during the full moon along with the guys and then once somewhere in between. She always always shifts twice. At least, she always shifted twice. 

Until now. 

By now, she's learned to control it. Scott taught her the signs to recognize - the nausea, the muscle aches, the room spinning, the overwhelming feeling of being disoriented and having no control- and if she concentrates hard enough, she can choose to remain human. But that battle is still there, reminding her that there is still an animal inside of her And it still takes careful control to stay in this form, so she and Stiles have an unspoken agreement that they'll stay in on those nights so she doesn't have to worry about losing that battle in public. So far, it's worked well for her. 

Until now. 

She tells Stiles when nothing happens because four years ago, he very poorly explained to her why she turned into a coyote during the full moon and then again a few weeks later while Scott remained human. (Luckily, Lydia is there to fill in the gaps he left in his story until she understands.) At first, he tells her not to worry about it because it wouldn't be the first time she shifted on a day when she didn't expect it. But after four days, he's stopped giving her updates on what he knows about Derek and Lydia and instead asks for constant updates on the status of her shift. Even his hyperactive brain can't focus on anything else. 

"You feeling shifty?" She's on his bed in one of his t-shirts because she was ready to just try to sleep when he rolled his desk chair over in front of her, beginning Interrogation #3 for tonight. She knows already that he'll stay there and she'll stay on his bed, like they're literally in one of those tiny interrogation rooms she's seen so many times when she’s gone with Stiles to his dad’s office or been pulled into the police station because of the chaos they’re involved in. He's been keeping his distance and watching her, too. Like she's something to study instead of his girlfriend. Or like whatever it is that's keeping her from shifting is contagious. 

"Shifty isn't even a word," she says as she pulls one knee towards her chest, resting her chin on top. He stares at her for a long moment, elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward. 

"That's really what you're going to focus on right now?" 

"Well, it's not." He sighs, leaning back as his eyes go to the ceiling. She can smell his frustration, but at least it's attempting to overpower the anxiety he's reeked of for days. She sighs too, but it comes out more as a huff in her attempt to mimic him. "I already told you. I don't feel anything. It's like I'm... stuck." There's a knot in the pit of her stomach as she says it, one that grows tighter the longer it sits there. Because as much as she loves being here, being with _him_ , there's a freedom that comes from still being able to transform into an animal. She's told him for a few years now that she wants to stay in this body, but that was only because she always had the option to turn back. Whenever she wanted to. "Do you think that's it?" she asks, her voice the anxious one now. "Do you think I'm stuck like this?" 

"No. I don't know," he sighs again as he leans forward in the chair, cradling his chin in his hand. "Have you tried shifting on your own?" She shakes her head, feeling hopeful as she holds out her hand. She concentrates for a minute, and manages to pull out her claws. Pure relief fills her, forcing away all of those negative thoughts. Clearly, she's not stuck in any form. She looks to him, nearly as excited as she was the very first time she did this, but his hands are now covering his face. 

"Shit," he mumbles, his voice muffled by his palms. 

"What?" 

He moves his hands away, watching her again for a long enough period of time for her to think she missed some kind of cue, even though she's gotten so good at interacting with other humans. "Malia, I think you might be -" 

"Might be what?" 

He stares at her for a long time again before he finally pats her knee. "You know what? Don't worry about it. I'll talk to Scott tomorrow. Get some sleep; I won't keep you up anymore." He moves to stand up from the chair, but she stops him with the claws she hasn't yet put away when she grabs his wrist. Sometimes, she thinks she can read his emotions better than she can process her own. Right now, he reeks of fear and nerves, and it’s making that knot in the pit of her stomach feel tighter.

"I might be what?" 

"Malia -" 

" _Stiles_. Might be _what_?" 

He sighs again, but he sinks back into the chair. She takes her claws away. Now, he smells like guilt. Guilt and fear and nerves, and he's starting to scare her. Really scare her. "Just tell me what you're thinking." 

He’s quiet for so long, she has to ask a third time before he finally gives her an answer. "I think you might be pregnant." 

"No," she immediately responds, vehemently shaking her head. "That's not even possible. We're not _mating_." Because they're not in the most literal sense. But even as she's telling him this, she can feel that knot returning to the pit of her stomach, her fear spreading quickly as she admits to herself that something has felt different. That she's spent too much time loathing and then loving this body to not know everything about it. So she knows when something's changed or when something feels... off. She's felt off lately. She _still_ feels off right now. She feels really off, and now she feels worse. She feels so much worse. 

"I don't think this body cares about that," he tells her when he finally does speak again. And he looks so sad and so scared, she can't help but think about when she met him. Not the very first time, but the second time in Eichen House when he was up against something so much bigger than himself. It's the combination of her fear and his expression and this new idea blooming inside of her with a life of its own - a very real fear of its own - and suddenly, she can feel tears forming in her eyes. Finally, he reaches across, taking one of her hands in his and giving it a squeeze. "But let's hope that it does. Let's really hope that it does." 

"Oh my god." She doesn't know what else to say. There doesn't seem to be anything else to say. Not when she has absolutely no clue what's happening with this very confusing body she's been given and it's starting to drive her a little crazy. 

His voice is much softer than hers when he echoes her sentiments. "Oh my god." 

\----

By the time Scott meets him in the library the following morning, Stiles is on his fourth cup of coffee, and he has the jittery right side of his body to prove it. It's slowly migrating to the left. 

"You really think you need that?" Scott asks with a nod towards the styrofoam cup, swinging his bag into the chair next to him. 

"I didn't sleep last night. This," he says as he lifts the cup for emphasis, succeeding in letting some slosh off the lid onto the table. "Is a necessity." 

"Paper?"

"No. Malia." His leg is bouncing under the table, and he's furiously typing, flipping at warp speed between Google and the word doc he's filling with notes. When Scott hasn't said anything for a while, he looks up to find his best friend has one eyebrow raised, obviously waiting for more details. Stiles scoffs. "Not like that. _Definitely_ not like that." Eyes back on his screen, he ends up mumbling to himself as he Googles one more phrase he probably shouldn't. "Not like that for a long, _long_ time." 

Suddenly, Scott's leaning across the table, his voice hushed as he looks around the library. "This isn't about Lydia is it?" 

Now, _that_ gets Stiles's attention. He finally looks up from what he's doing, a little tiffed. Actually, he's a little more than just tiffed. Lydia Martin was the source of many a sleepless night a few years ago, but he's been with Malia for four. More importantly, Scott should know by now how he feels about his girlfriend - and Lydia too, for that matter. Even though he knows that Malia's in class right now across campus, he does a quick survey of the room, too. He's learned the hard way to never underestimate her coyote senses.

"No, This isn't about Lydia," he says as he leans across the table, his voice bordering on a hiss after his sleepless night. "The Derek thing is weird - so weird - and really confusing. But if she wants to do that to herself, it's her life. And Malia slept in her room last night. And I stayed up. Okay?" 

He feels a little guilty as he says that last part. She wanted to sleep in the guest room (he feels funny even calling it her room), after they came to the agreement that they'd give it a few more days to see if anything changed. But he didn't try to stop her. And he also didn't try to coax her back to his room or stay in that room with her after she'd had a chance to calm down. _And_ he can't deny the fact that he knew she was crying when she left the room, but she has this weird thing about crying. She's never liked to do it in front of him, so sometimes, he doesn't know if he should comfort her anyways or give her her space. So last night, he kind of just gave her her space. 

Back when she was newly human, it took her awhile to figure out how crying worked again. He kind of misses those days. 

But Scott's there now, looking confused still. "But why?" Stiles sighs, not sure if four cups of coffee is enough caffeine to fuel this conversation. While he's still thinking that one over, Scott playfully bumps his fist. "C'mon, man. Throw a wolf a bone?" 

Stiles makes a face because even though Scott is clearly way more proud of this joke than he should be, he is so not in the mood for this right now. Finally, he closes the lid of his laptop - this is a serious enough conversation to warrant no distractions - and throws his hands up. "Malia's not shifting." 

Immediately, Scott looks concerned, leaning closer again. "She can't turn back into a coyote?" 

"No. She _can_ when she wants to. But..." His voice trails off and he clears his throat nervously. Scott is more like a brother than a friend at this point, but there are topics that are still borderline uncomfortable for even them, and his girlfriend's shifting patterns fall into the category. "You know how Malia shifts twice a month?" Scott gives him a quick nod. "Well, the full moon was fine but now... nothing. She's... late with that shift." 

Stiles is pretty sure he could hear the click that just took place in his best friend's head. His eyes grow wide. " _Dude_." 

"I know. Trust me _, I know_." 

"What about... Is she late...?" 

"Yep. That too." 

"So what are you gonna do?" 

"I don't know." He wants to laugh. He wants to throw up his hands again. Part of him wants to cry and might really cry if they weren't sitting in the middle of the library right now. He wishes that he hadn't brought it up last night, and then he wishes that he hadn't agreed to wait a few more days. Basically, he has no clue what he's doing. "Wait a couple days? See if something changes?" 

Scott is silent, and Stiles is thinking too much, so he keeps talking before he can stop himself. "Six pups." Scott's confusion is obvious again. "That's the average litter for a coyote: six. _Six_ ," he says holding up fingers for emphasis. "And it only takes like 60 days. So do I have 60 days or do I have nine months?" What he's not telling Scott is that he already knows. Maybe he doesn't have the proof that he feels that he needs, but he knows. Way back when they thought Lydia was going to turn, Peter had told him that she would shift twice a month, and when Malia did and caught everyone off guard, he had been the one to explain it. And now she's not shifting, and it can only mean one thing, and he so did not sign up for this. He rubs a hand over his tired eyes, willing this to all just go away. "Oh my god!" 

Scott knows him well, though. The first thing he does is take the laptop, shoving it towards his own bag where it's just far enough out of Stiles's reach, he would have to dive across the table and make a scene to get it back. "Someone needs to cut you off from Google." 

"Well, Scott, Google actually hasn't been a huge help," he sighs as he leans back against his chair. "Google doesn't recognize the phrase 'werecoyote.' And all I can keep thinking is that this is half me and half her, so then it has to be a... pup, right? A half pup? How does this work?" 

"I don't know." 

"How do you not know!? You're the Alpha!" 

"But _**I**_ don't have pups, Stiles." 

"Well, pups don't have pups either!" He's arguing now, his voice growing in volume so that conversations around them are starting to come to a stand still. "I'm still a pup, Scott!" he says, nearly stabbing himself in the chest with his index finger for emphasis. " _I am still a pup!_ " 

"Okay, man. Let's get out of here." Scott grabs their stuff before patting Stiles's shoulder, a signal to get out of his seat. And he follows because not even his caffeine overdose was enough to fuel that outburst. Scott waits till they're outside to make suggestions for what they should do next. First, he brings up Deaton who will know more about pups and half pups than him. ("Scott, do _not_ even tell me you're going to suggest that I take my girlfriend to a _vet_... Okay, that actually makes sense.") But first, Scott reasons they should talk to his mom ("You mean your mom who's dating _my_ dad? Bring my girlfriend who may or may not be pregnant to _her_?") Because even though Melissa McCall has become a staple in the Stilinski house these past few months, she's someone they can trust. And they need answers. Lots of answers. 

Starting with whether or not there even _is_ a pup in the first place. 

Stiles feels slightly better with a plan in place. And he swears, he's going to try to stay away from Google. 

\----

She doesn't know how he does it, but Stiles is waiting in the lobby of the fitness center when she goes to leave. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders are slumped, and his anxiety surrounds him like a cloud. She felt like she was going to choke on it that morning in his Jeep while he talked a million words a minute about anything and everything besides the conversation they had the night before. Which is actually okay with her. She's very good at compartmentalizing her life - most of the time - so she shoved that conversation to the side while she took an exam that morning and sat through a lecture in her science class. But it became more of a challenge as the day went on and her thoughts kept drifting back to the things he had said the night before. Crazy, crazy things. Luckily for her, he doesn't say anything about the fact that she obviously skipped her last class of the day - the only class they have together this semester - to run. But he must know because he figured out she'd be here to change afterwards, and now, here he is. 

He perks up when he sees her, and he wastes no time in telling her where they're headed: Waiting was a stupid idea, and Melissa is their best option, so he already called. And she agrees to all of it. Because she wants answers now, too. 

Which is how she finds herself in a private room at Beacon Hills Memorial, her sleeve rolled up to her elbow and Stiles's hand tightly grasping her free one. The needle Melissa has in her hand doesn't bother Malia; she doesn't think there was a test that they didn't run on her after Scott and Stiles brought her back from her den, so she's had plenty of practice. But Stiles's anxiety is almost overpowered by his fear this time. "You okay there, Stiles?" she hears Melissa ask, and she looks up to find his face pale, his other hand pressed tightly against the bed almost like he needs it to keep him up. 

"I'm fine," he says with a forced, sheepish grin. "Just not a fan of... that." 

She promises to be quick, and she is. Before Malia knows it, Melissa's taken a small vial of her blood, and Stiles is sighing with relief as he straightens up. "Okay, Jane Doe," Melissa says with a wink, using the name they're using instead of hers, though Malia doesn't know who picked Jane Doe. "We'll have your results within the hour." There's some kind of rush on it, something only Melissa could do, and Stiles says she's putting herself on the line for them, which she doesn't understand until he mentions that she could lose her job over this. But then when she started to argue that they shouldn't do it then, he told her that wouldn't happen, and she's too tired to try any more to understand. 

And now she's alone with him for the first time since last night. He lets his hand fall away from her own as he moves away from the bed, beginning to pace across the room the same way he does in his room when he's studying for a test or he's trying to reason through his father's latest case. But he stops almost as soon as he started, almost as if he just realized she didn't leave with Melissa. He looks right at her, hands shoved in his pockets again. "How are you feeling?" 

"I'm fine," she tells him in a matter-of-fact way because physically, she does feel fine. "But not shifty." He gives her a sad smile when she says that, and she wonders if maybe he missed the fact that she was trying to make a joke. And then, because she's trying to get better at asking questions _back_ , she turns it on him. "How are you feeling?" 

"I'm okay." His heart hasn't slowed once the whole time they've been here, but somehow, she still knows that's a lie. She watched the way he counted his fingers once, twice, three times in the lobby when he thought she wasn't looking. He finally comes back over to where she is, sitting down on the bed beside her.

"Did you talk to Scott?" 

He nods, his eyes focused on his lap. He's counting again, but she doesn't know if he even realizes it this time. "He said Deaton might have some answers, but he doesn't know if you can't shift because you are... you know. And he doesn't know if - if you are, you know - if it'll be...I just kept hoping you'd feel different today or Scott would have more answers or this'd all turn out to be a dream. But this is real, isn't it?" 

She's been with him long enough now to be familiar with his nerves, but this time, she feels like she's drowning in his anxiety. Like it fills every space in this room. And it's almost like she can feel it in her own chest. If she still had her fur coat, it'd be standing up on end right now, sensing the attack before it hits him. 

"Stiles..." 

"I'm sorry. I just - I just -" 

His hand is pressed to his chest as it rises and falls rapidly with each short breath he takes. And she realizes that this is panic; she can feel it on his skin when she touches his hand. It's like something broke inside of him, and he can't seem to get back that control. His skin is pale, and his cheeks are clammy when she brings her hands there, forcing him to look at her. 

"You just need to breathe," she tells him, as she leans in closer, pressing her forehead against his. She takes his hand, pressing it to her chest where her heart is beating slower, though it's starting to race as she watches him continue to struggle. She wants to take this away from him, but she still can't get the hang of the ability to take other people's pain, and she doesn't know if a panic attack would even count. So she breathes instead, slow and exaggerated, staring straight into his eyes. For a minute, she doesn't think it's working at all, and she's tempted to use the call button Melissa had pointed out before she left the room. But then his breathing does start to slow down. Slowly but surely, he regains control. 

"I'm sorry," he says again once he can talk, a weak smile letting her know that he really is okay now. "I should be the one calming you down." 

"No, I'm sorry," she argues, and he looks confused. 

"What do you have to be sorry about?" 

"We wouldn't be here if I could turn." 

"Woah, woah, woah," he says as he places a gentle hand under her chin, forcing her to look back at him. His breathing is still a little staggered, and his whole body seems to shudder when he takes a deep breath before talking again. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You would be able to turn if it wasn't for me. None of this is your fault, okay? We did this together." 

She thinks this over for a minute, and then she nods. As scary as this still feels, she likes the sound of that. _They did this together_. 

"Malia, you know what this means, right? If it's positive?" 

He used to ask her questions like this all the time, and for a long time, she didn't know what things meant. She looked to him for cues and hints and sometimes the full answer. And when big things - important things - happened, he'd always stop to make sure that she understood. It's been a long time since he's asked her, though, and she feels like it's another reminder that this isn't like anything else they've done together. It may not be her best reaction, but she can't help but roll her eyes. 

"Stiles, I get it." 

"Hey, I just wanted to make sure," he says, his eyes sincere. "But it'll be okay. We'll make this work, no matter what." 

He still smells like nerves and anxiety and fear; part of him always does. But she can sense that he means what he says. She can feel his heartbeat, so much steadier than before, and she knows that he's telling the truth this time. 

Which is good, because Melissa is back within the next ten minutes, and Malia doesn't think she ever uses that word _positive_ because her smile is too much of a mask to actually hide the truth. "How about we talk about what happens next?" she offers instead. 

Because this is really happening. This is really _really_ happening. 

\---- 

He swears, the plan was always to tell his dad right away. With all three of them living under one freaking roof, there's not a whole lot of places to stash away secrets, so it's best for everyone if they just come clean right away. But there's a lot of time spent making sure that she's okay, and she's really not making this easy on him. She just keeps saying that she's fine, and she really seems like she means it every single time. Which makes him feel like the world's worst boyfriend because he's having panic attacks on a near daily basis, and _she's_ the one who's actually pregnant. So he's mostly been watching her, putting off all of the important conversations they should be having in order to reassure himself that she's telling him the truth. 

And then there's Scott. Let's be honest - Scott would have been first on the list of people to know regardless, but his wolf knowledge makes him a guaranteed #1. Stiles did _not_ take a cue from his best friend and called him after Malia fell asleep curled up in his bed that same night, figuring that news this big deserved more than a text message. He gets to talk some things through that first night, like helping Scott to understand that in the wild, there's no such thing as choice, so there's only one option for them - the same option he would've picked regardless. Or explaining that he thinks this might have happened on her birthday because it fits the timeline and he hadn't been prepared when she pulled him out into the woods. And there are a lot of questions Stiles doesn't feel up to answering, but at least he knows that Scott is an ally in all of this. Even if he doesn't understand anymore than Stiles does about any of this, at least he's willing to try to help them figure out some of these things. So far, they've determined that his Googling was a bad idea because the ultrasound Melissa hooked them up with that same day showed only one tiny, _tiny_ pup that's going to take a lot longer than 60 days. So now, they'll go from there. 

And his dad is next on the list, he swears. It's just that the shifting starts then. 

It's funny that all of this started when she didn't shift because now she can't stop. It's like it's her first full moon all over again, and she can barely stay in control. At first, it starts small, and it's usually linked to her emotions, which is new, too. She gets frustrated with him, and her claws come out. She gets emotional reading Lydia's latest book recommendation, and her eyes turn bright blue. She gets anxious when he brings up the possibility of cluing in his dad at dinner one night, and she very nearly wolfs out. But she's a pro when it comes to turning and changing and shifting, and she's so good at using her anchor. So even though he knows she finds it annoying, she can live with it. 

But tonight is different. It's not a full moon, but it might as well be because there's nothing to set her off but she still can't stop shifting. Stop being the operative word. Because no matter how many times she fights her way back and away from that control, she starts to shift again. And when she's capable of talking, she tells him that she feels like a new wolf again. 

Like if she has the chance, she'll hurt him. 

But not only does he trust her enough, he's too worried to leave her alone. She keeps fighting it with all of her strength, but she's starting to get exhausted. Her skin is clammy, her cheeks are flushed, and her breathing never slows. And even though she's too stoic to mention it aloud, he knows her well enough to know that she's in pain. _A lot_ of pain. 

He keeps asking her if she's sure it's just the pain that she associates with turning and resisting that turn, and she mostly nods, but she occasionally yells and curses him out in response to his question. Still, he stays put, sitting on the very edge of his bed where she fluctuates between writhing on her knees and curling up into a tight ball on her side. 

"Okay, you're okay," he tells her after one particular close call, risking his right hand when he places it gently on her shoulder. "Just try to focus on your breathing or my voice or something. Try to make it stop."

But it doesn't stop. She tries all of the above and then some, but there's no reprieve. One second she's fought her way back, and the next, she's being pulled back in. And she can't keep this up much longer. 

So he does the only thing he can think to do: he calls Scott. 

By the time Scott gets there, Stiles has moved beyond his fear of bodily harm, and he's on his knees beside her, right in the thick of it. He rubs her back and makes his breathing as exaggerated as possible so she'll be able to hear him. But she's also started to shake, the motion sometimes bordering on convulsions when she has to fight the hardest to stay human. 

"Have you seen this before? Is this normal?" Stiles doesn't even realize he's been looking for Scott to say that yeah, this happens to all of them at some point until his best friend is shaking his head and he may as well have punched Stiles in the gut. 

"For a new wolf on a full moon, sure. But not Malia." 

"Yeah, thanks, Scott. We hadn't realized this wasn't normal for her." He doesn't mean to be so sarcastic, but he's really starting to freak out here, and he'd appreciate it if Scott would just start offering suggestions instead of stating the obvious. As if he needs a reminder that they're limited on time, she makes a whimpering sound that may or may not have contained his name. Her forehead is pressed to his bed, whatever noise she makes muffled by the angle her body is bent at. "Hey, I'm right here," he promises, his voice softer and far more patient. But he thinks she might growl next, and he's pretty certain that's not a good sign. 

Scott's first suggestion is to call Derek, at which point Stiles has to confess to having already tried him while waiting for Scott, and then calling Lydia only to find out that she has no idea where Derek is either. And if Scott didn't know Stiles was seriously rattled by this before, he knows now. There are few people he would call Derek Hale for, and the older wolf now has 20 missed calls from Stiles to attest to his worries. Scott's next suggestion is Deaton, but even though it makes a hell of a lot of sense, Stiles isn't feeling so great about putting her in a car. 

"You're the alpha," he argues when Scott refuses to come with any more suggestions. "Can't you do something for her?" So Scott tries to take some of her pain, thinking it might be distracting her from concentrating on staying in control, but she won't let him get close enough to touch her (which is weird, because Stiles's hands are still very much pressed to her back and shoulder). And then Stiles helps coax her to lift her head while Scott tries howling, but she bares her own fangs and snarls back. 

"Oh-kay! Deaton it is." 

It's then that a very human-sounding Malia starts to protest. "Not the car," she says, shaking her head, and he's shocked to find she looks and sounds like she's on the verge of tears. "I don't want to hurt you." 

He crouches back down so he's at eye-level with her where she's curled up on his bed. She's shaking constantly now and she looks exhausted, and all he wants to do is pull her into his arms but he has no idea how she'll respond to that. "You're not going to hurt me," he tells her, grateful for the fact that he sounds a hundred times more confident than he feels. "And if you try, we'll have Scott there." At this point, he honestly has no idea if they're doing the right thing or not, but he knows he can't sit there anymore and just watch this happen. 

She argues a second time when they try to help her to her feet because it's literally taking all of the energy she has left to just stay human. But Scott agrees to carry her to the Jeep, and he thinks she might not have any energy left to fight them, either. 

And all Stiles can think is that if he did this to her, he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to forgive himself. 

\----

In the car, she's suddenly doing a lot more whimpering, and he worries that something else is wrong until Scott lets him know that he can sense her starting to panic. And panic is a trigger. And panic is not good. 

"Hey, Malia?" Stiles says as he glances at her in the rearview mirror (she insisted on taking the backseat where she'd be farther away from them). He slips his hand back over the middle console to take her own. He's immediately aware of the fact that her claws are out again and ready to go, but he doesn't pull away. "You gotta find something - my voice or my hand or Scott's voice. You gotta find something to focus on." 

"I'm _trying_." 

"I know, I know." And God, does he ever know. He's been the one watching her struggle all night. "And you're doing so good. Seriously, you're my hero right now, but you gotta keep doing it." 

He's been so used to being her anchor, he doesn't know what to do when it won't work. He forces Scott to talk, but nothing changes. He turns on the radio, but that only seems to upset her more, so it goes back off. He doesn't let go of her hand, even when he can feel the way her claws are digging into his skin, probably drawing blood. But he doesn't know if she's squeezing it like that because she wants the comfort or because she wants to kill him. He's desperate for something else to suggest, and he settles on the only thing he thinks he hasn't tried that night. 

"What about the baby? Try focusing on the baby."

He doesn't know if this will work either. Just because it's there doesn't mean she knows it's _there_. But he feels like what's happening has to be linked to the only thing that's changed about her. And they have literally tried everything else he can think of. After his suggestion, she seems a little calmer. Her breathing is still ragged and he can feel the way she shakes against his hand, not to mention the fact that her claws are still very much there, but she stops whimpering. And when she speaks, she sounds human again.

"Its heart is beating twice as fast as yours." 

It takes him a minute to realize what she means. Because even though he's had plenty of time to think about this, it's always just been this idea. Things are going to change, and there's going to be a baby, but until tonight, she's still been Malia and it's just been an idea that there will be a baby there. It's harder for him to grasp the fact that it is there. Real enough for her heightened senses to pick up its _heartbeat_. 

They're stopped at a light, so he takes advantage and turns around all the way in his seat to look at her. "Really? You can sense it like that already?" She nods, eyes closed as she concentrates on a sound he can't hear, letting it keep her anchored for the moment. He turns back to Scott, not wanting to distract her when she has clearly found her zone. "Can you hear it too?" 

"Yeah. It's pretty cool. Definitely your kid." 

"Wow. That's... wow." He doesn't know what it is. It's overwhelming and terrifying and kind of amazing all at the same time. But mostly overwhelming and terrifying, especially if this is the way her body is going to continue to respond to it. And this is really happening. There's no denying that, not even a little bit. And that might be what scares him the very most. 

Her new focus isn't a cure-all, but it keeps her almost human until they arrive at the clinic where Deaton is probably just closing up for the night. When he opens the door to find Malia in Scott's arms, he doesn't even ask any questions before ushering them in, and Stiles is very grateful for the way his best friend fills in Deaton on what's happened so that he can focus on Malia who has given up on trying to open her eyes again, her body in constant near-convulsions as she continues to fight. He only adds information that he thinks is absolutely vital, like making sure the vet knows this has been going on for hours and tonight's the only night it's happened, even though, according to Melissa, this all probably started almost five weeks ago. Mostly, he brushes her hair off of her clammy cheek and keeps his hand around her clawed one, feeling like an idiot because that's all he can do. When the vet decides to give her an injection, he insists on knowing what it is (a sedative) and whether or not it's safe for both parties involved (it should be), and then he stays there with her until he's sure she's out before meeting Deaton and Scott in the next room. 

"So, she's better now, right? This won't happen again?" he says in way of greeting when he finally comes to stand in the doorway, not sure he really wants to leave her alone even now when she's unconscious. But Deaton shakes his head, and Stiles is pretty sure that if he didn't have so many questions, he would probably just kill him now. 

"She's sedated for now so she'll stop shifting, and my hope is that some of its effects will last for a little while at least, but I don't know if or when this might happen again." 

"But you've seen this before." Once again, he shakes his head, and Stiles is used to it enough now, that he just casually notes in the back of his mind that he's starting to feel like he's headed for a panic attack. "So then, what did I do to her?" Hands clasped behind his head, he feels like he's the one who's on the verge of tears now. Because if Deaton has worked with the Hales for years, he's had to have seen pups - well, cubs, at least- lots of cubs, yet he's never seen this. This one that he's to blame for. 

"Nothing, I promise," Deaton insists, but Stiles is far from convinced. "That's the newest coyote any of you have ever had experience with. My guess is, Malia's dealing with its lack of control right now, and that's why she's shifting like this." 

"So it's a... pup?" He had said it as a joke with Scott that day in the library, but now Deaton is confirming that yes, this baby is half of Malia, so it will be half coyote. Or werecoyote. That tightness in his chest grows a little tighter as he tries to concentrate on taking deep breaths. This has been a concern of his because he may consider himself to be a part of the pack, but he is one hundred percent human. Sometimes, he think he knows more about the whole wolf thing than even Scott does, but he doesn't know what it's like to be one. And now, his baby is one. 

"Okay... Okay. So what else is gonna happen to her?" Stiles wants all of the facts right now, no matter how intimidating they seem all together. But really, Deaton doesn't have very many for them, and all of the knowledge he has is based on wolves, not coyotes. Her shifting will most likely continue, though he hopes and Stiles prays real damn hard that she'll gain control over that soon. And her ability to heal will slow down and seem weaker because now she's essentially healing for two. He also volunteers that her heightened immune system won't allow for drugs for pain, and the stress involved with giving birth will most likelybe a trigger for her, so she'll probably to struggle to stay human then, too. At that point, Stiles has to sit down and put his head between his legs because he's still getting used to the idea of there being a baby _inside of her_. He can't even start thinking about... that. 

While he's still trying to pull himself together, Scott takes over the questioning, ever the alpha. "So how can we find someone who knows more about what's going on with her?" 

Unfortunately, according to Deaton, there's only one person: her mother, the only werecoyte any of them know has given birth before. 

And of course, it went _so_ well three years ago when they set out to find her. He had been the leader of that expedition because Malia was still floundering with the idea of being a human, and even though he liked to think the pack could be enough family for her, she wanted to know more about where she came from. But every lead turned out to be a dead end or another assassin that hadn't been crossed off their own Deadpool before the Benefactor bit the dust. They spent nearly an entire summer in Mexico before giving up and calling it a day. The last anyone knew, Braeden was still there, still determined to find her, with no luck. 

And now, she's the only person who has the answers they need.

Stiles is quiet for much of the ride home, Malia now asleep in the back seat thanks to that sedative, because he's too busy trying to piece together a solution. There's only one other person who may know something about Malia's own birth, but Stiles cut Scott off before he could even say his name. He's in Eichen House, and he's going to stay there while Stiles pretends he no longer exists. 

The sun is starting to come up when Scott helps him to carry Malia back inside, laying her down on his bed where they started a few hours ago. He expects his best friend to ask him to call him later before he leaves, but instead, Scott stops and asks him how he is. 

"I don't know," Stiles admits, the most honest thing he's said in a long time. And then he just keeps going. He talks about how okay with it Malia seems while he's scared out of his mind. And the guilt he feels because even though he knows he didn't do this on his own, he's not the one who's battling against a shifting pup. And the uncertainty and the stress and the worry. And how he knows they weren't always the _most_ careful, but he still doesn't understand how this could have happened to them. 

"You know my dad's going to have a field day with that one," he says as he furrows his brows together, deepening his voice in an effort to mimic the Sheriff. "'How could you let this happen, Stiles? How many times have we had this talk?' 'Well, gee, Dad. I don't know. A million and one, including when Malia moved in, and I still screwed this up?' The best part is, now I have to tell him that Malia's pregnant, and, oh, by the way: she's shifting uncontrollably, so you might want to lock your door tonight." 

"Malia's _what_?" 

He'd know that voice anywhere. And even if he was too sleep deprived now to recognize it, Scott's wide eyes are a dead give away, coupled with the fact that he looks way more scared than he did the night before watching Malia. 

"He's right behind me, isn't he?" Scott gives a quick nod. That fist is back in the middle of his chest when he turns around. 

"Home? Malia's... home now?" 

\---- 

She wakes up somewhere between lectures three and four. She's sore, her head is pounding, her mouth is dry, and she still feels a little shaky, but at least she doesn't feel like she's about to shift. For a split second, there's an anxious feeling in her chest that starts to spread when she realizes Stiles is missing, but then she hears his voice, and she relaxes, unclenching muscles that were clenched for hours the night before. And she can't help but overhear their conversation. The Stilinski house is small to begin with, and coupled with her heightened senses, there is no conversation she can't hear. 

_"Do you have a plan?"_

_"Well, I figured we'd repeal the ban on cribs for starters._

_"Do you think this is **funny** , Stiles? Because I can assure you that it's not." _

_"No, Dad. Of course I don't think it's funny. For now, I thought we'd stay here."_

_"What about school?"_

_"We'll make it work. We're both going to finish. I'll only have one more semester after the baby's born. She'll have two."_

_"And you're going to have this conversation with her father."_

_"Which one?"_

_"Both of them! You are walking a thin line, Mister. Do you realize that?"_

_"I know, I know. I'm sorry."_

_"How is she?"_

_"Sedated... I'm not trying to be funny! She really is. Deaton gave her a sedative last night to stop the shifting."_

_"Is she okay?"_

_"For now, but Deaton doesn't really know what else might happen. He says it'll probably happen again. And that? That was terrifying. That was more terrifying than this conversation."_

_"Are **you** okay, Stiles?" _

_"Not really."_

It makes her feel uncomfortable when they start talking about her, so she tunes them out, closing her eyes as she tries to focus on the baby like she did the night before. She knew it was there before last night. She can't feel it, but she can sense it, just this feeling that she's never really alone anymore. But it wasn't until Stiles suggested it that she realized she could actually hear the baby. And with her eyes closed again and the conversation downstairs tuned out, she can hear that tiny heartbeat again. It's a little slower than it was last night, but still two times faster than Stiles's has ever been. And she likes it. She likes it a lot. 

She knows that Stiles is scared - she didn't even have to overhear any part of a conversation to recognize the way he smells like he bathed in fear. And a part of her was scared at first, too. When he told her he thought she was pregnant, she had been determined to prove him wrong, and she had tried, spending the rest of the night, convincing herself she was just on the verge of shifting over and over again. But now... Now, this body that she's spent the past four years learning to love knows what to do all on its own. And that's something she really understands. 

She doesn't notice their conversation has come to an end until the voices are gone. And when the door to his room creaks open, she opens her eyes again. 

"Hey, I didn't wake you, did I?" She shakes her head, moving slowly to sit up on his bed. He meets her there, sitting down and moving to rest against the headboard right beside her, his arm pulling her in close. "How are you feeling?" 

"Better." She nuzzles her face in the crook of his shoulder, gently nipping at his neck. "Stop worrying," she mumbles against his skin without pulling away. 

"Who said anything about worrying?" 

"I can smell it on you. And I don't like it." 

"Well, after last night, you smell like a dog, but you don't hear me complaining." He pinches her side and she laughs. 

"I am a dog." She finally lifts her head away from his body, getting a good look at him. His eyes have dark shadows under them, and she realizes for the first time that if he was talking to his dad about her when she woke up, he probably didn't sleep at all. But more noticeable is the fact that his eyes are red-rimmed and pink. She rests her palm against his cheek, rubbing her thumb over a spot where the salt from his tears is still drying. "You were crying." When she first changed back to this body, he worked with her ceaselessly on human emotions. Long before she could label her own, she could recognize them on other people. And now, it's become a habit; she could never miss the obvious fact that he was upset. 

"I'm fine," he says, trying to shrug it off. He takes her hand from his cheek, lacing his fingers through her own instead, and she can see the deep scratches on both sides of his hand. He follows his eyes to his hand, then twists it to keep hers on top and those dark red lines better hidden. "Last night was just _rough_." 

"But it's gonna happen again." 

"It might. Deaton wasn't sure. I guess that's just what pups do." She feels confused as she looks back at him then. It's not the first time he's called it a pup, but she doesn't know what it is that pups do. But he's always been good about explaining the things that go over her head. "The baby doesn't have an anchor. You were shifting for it." 

Now, she gets it. "So it's like me?" 

She doesn't know how to feel about that. Every struggle she's faced has been connected to the fact that she's part animal and part girl, and for a long time, she didn't know how the two fit together. And that's not what she wants for their baby... or pup. A part of her understands that their baby won't spend eight years on its own in the wild, but this is all she's ever known. It's all she has to compare to. 

"Definitely like you." He presses his lips against hers, offering her the smallest distraction. Sometimes, she feels like she has a scent he recognizes, like she knows when he's panicking or getting frustrated. Because the distraction of his mouth against hers was exactly what she needed. When he pulls back, he keeps his forehead pressed against her own. "I'm really sorry, by the way." 

"What do you have to be sorry for?" 

He sighs, looking back down to where his fingers are still threaded with her own. "All of this. The shifting, and the worry, and the sedation. I'm sorry you're dealing with this." 

Immediately, she shakes her head. She pulls away from him, unlacing their fingers and unwrapping his arm from around her waist, slowly moving her achy body to straddle his lap instead. He has no choice but to meet her eyes then when she takes his face in her hands. "We said no apologies, remember. We did this together." 

And they did. She gets that now. Because she can sense the baby, and she can sense that it's a part of her, but she can also sense that there's something there that's not her. There's something there that's very much him. And there's something new, too. Something that's not quite either of them. It's not her fault she can't shift, and it's not his fault that she can't stop. It just... happened. 

"God, how do you stay so calm?"

"I don't know," she tells him honestly. Without realizing it, her hand moves to rest against her middle, right where she knows it is, even if she can't feel it yet. "This just feels... right. It feels _normal_. More normal than a lot of things have felt." 

"Well, I gotta be honest with you, I'm really freaking out here, Mal. Just in case, you know, the panic attacks weren't a big enough tip-off." He laughs at himself, and she laughs with him. If she's honest, as much as they scare her, his panic attacks are almost cute, in a way. And she likes that she knows how to talk him out of them now. It makes her feel like she's doing something for him, the way he's done so much for her. 

"That's okay." She steals one more quick kiss. "Your dad's freaking out too." 

This time, Stiles bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing. "I'm sorry about that too. He overheard me with Scott." 

"He's mad." 

"He's _disappointed_ ," he corrects, tucking her hair back behind her ear for her. "And he's worried about you. He wants to talk - all three of us - when you feel up to it. So, feel free to take the next year to recover from last night." 

She rolls her eyes, still laughing at him. "He's not mad at me, only you." 

"Can you really sense that?" 

She shakes her head. "I could hear you." 

There's a half smile on his lips as he shakes his head. They've talked about her ability to hear and when it might be a good idea to turn that off, but he doesn't reprimand her now. "Well, in the interest of my life," he says as he starts to yawn. "I say we wait." 

"You should sleep, too," she tells him, watching the way he blinks his eyes so slowly after the yawn. "You need it. You smell even worse when you're tired." 

"I love you too, Malia." But really, she does. She loves him. She loves him a lot. And as freaked out as he may be or as scared as she may feel, it feels better with him. She feelsl like maybe, just maybe, they'll be able to figure things out together.


	2. Second Month

The third person is Derek Hale. He will never, ever understand how that happens, but it does. First, he tells Scott, then his dad overhears... and then there's Derek. 

After that night from hell, they make it an entire week without incident. Which, for those who are wondering, is exactly enough time for one _really_ awkward dinner with his dad, and one _really_ sad revelation about his sex life. He loves his dad, he really does, and he thinks he might have a new appreciation for him, now that... Yeah, he can't go that far yet. But he thinks he's _about_ to gain a new appreciation for his dad. Especially when said Dad witnessed the latest panic attack, and he listened to him when he kind of just... lost it. Because, to be honest, even watching Malia struggle to stay human didn't make it feel as real as coming clean to his dad did. And even though his anxiety reached new levels when he thought about telling his dad, it feels good to finally have no secrets. 

But it wasn't exactly planned. It was poor timing and sleep deprivation and hearing that is seriously impressive for a guy his dad's age. So Malia didn't have to sit through any of that first lecture. They're both lucky enough to be present for the sequel, though, and his dad grills them both. He wants to know when they plan to tell her father(s), and how they plan to finish school, and where they plan to put the baby and name the baby and send the baby to college. And it takes a while, but eventually Stiles figures out that his dad is actually really good with Malia. He's patient and kind and understanding, and even Stiles starts to relax and think this little hiccup will be a piece of cake. And then his dad asks another question, directed at him, and his gaze turns to pure ice. It's a gift, it really is. And it's a little terrifying, to be honest. 

And the revelation about his sex life - or _their_ sex life - comes that same night. She's a bundle of nerves by the time dinner is over, so he's not surprised when she jumps him before his bedroom door is even closed all the way. Because this is just what she does. He's her security blanket, and she happens to find the most comfort when his clothes are off. There's probably a therapy session or two needed there, but it's always just worked for them. At least, it used to work for them. Because he's also a trigger for her, and as soon as she starts to feel a little shaky, she stops, afraid that if she gets too close to that change, she'll be stuck in that painful cycle again. Which means that until they find a way to make sure those attacks don't come, his sex life is nonexistent. 

He's willing to bet that if his dad knew anything about this, he'd be the first to tell him that this is what karma feels like. 

In the meantime, they make it a week and two days before the shifting thing happens again. Now, she's at home, sleeping off one of the sedatives Deaton supplied them with, and he's on cup o' joe #5 by the time he finds Scott in the quad on his way to their only shared class of the day. 

"It was worse?" Scott asks as Stiles downs half of the styrofoam cup in his hand. His best friend's eyes are wide in disbelief, and Stiles wishes he could enjoy the fact that he currently has Scott hanging on his every word, but it's pretty hard when he lived through the nightmare the night before. 

"Scott, she started vomiting, and then she couldn't stop. I had to give her the sedative twice." 

"Are you serious?" 

"I would have to be one sick freak to make this up." 

"Well, who's with her now?" 

"Your mom. Malia was still sleeping when I left." He waits a beat, downing more of that much-needed caffeine while he waits to gauge his best friend's response. They both know this is happening. Their parents had always been close, but in the past year, they've started _dating_. And even though they both know that it's happening, it's not something they usually talk about. Or, like, ever talk about. "I think your mom spent the night," he finally says, figuring that if they can talk about Malia's supernatural pregnancy symptoms, they can acknowledge the fact that their parents had a sleepover. 

"It's weird, right?" 

"It's super weird," he agrees. "But then again, my pregnant girlfriend sleeps in the guest room, so I'm trying not to judge." 

“She’s still in the guest room?” 

“We have random bed checks now too. I’m not convinced my dad really understands how this whole baby thing works.” To be honest, the threat of his dad finding him in her bed wouldn’t be so great if it weren’t for the fact that he knows what that kind of disappointment looks like on his dad. And he thinks he’s seen that expression enough in the past week without having to add another opportunity for it to show up. Besides that, his dad can’t say anything if he’s sitting in her room. Which is exactly what he’s been doing most nights. “It’s not like I’m sleeping anyways. She’s like a timebomb. Every time I close my eyes, I start to think that she’ll start doing the shifting thing in the middle of the night, and I won’t be there to help her.” 

It has literally become his biggest fear, probably because his subconscious recognizes that it’s the only fear he even has a chance of tackling right now. When he does let himself fall asleep, there are nightmares. Nightmares where she can’t switch back, and nightmares where there’s thick black blood, and nightmares where he has that tiny pill she needs, but he can’t get to her. So he’s not sleeping most nights because it’s just easier. 

Halfway across the quad, Scott sticks out his arm, forcing Stiles to stop. “Stiles, man, I think you really need to reconsider talking to Peter.” 

Just hearing that name is enough to make Stiles want to punch something, and that something would probably be Scott if he didn't know from experience that his best friend is an alpha with a body of steel. He doesn't understand why everyone else is still okay with the fact that he's in Eichen House, probably plotting to kill all of them in their sleep. He's had a deep-seeded hatred for Peter ever since he left Lydia for dead in the middle of the football field, and whatever shred of tolerance he had for the former alpha was shattered when he saw the way Peter treated Malia. Stiles would probably relive telling his dad every day for the rest of his life before he voluntarily went to Peter for help. 

"Nope. No way. How would he even know anything about this?" 

"Well, he is kind of her dad." 

"But have you ever stopped and done the math? He would've been younger than us when she was born. He probably didn't even know she existed until he was signing her away." 

"Or he could know a lot about this." 

"Well, knowing Peter, he's probably already promised away his firstborn grandchild, too. My pup is not ending up on the supernatural black market, Scott." This may be a little far-fetched - even Stiles can admit that - but there's something unnerving about Peter knowing there's another little wolf out there. It would really be okay with him if Peter never knew that Stiles landed his daughter in the family way. And Malia spent so much of her life alone, she doesn't understand things like family obligation. There's no guilt over not telling her father things. He doesn't see any trips to see Grandpa in Eichen House in his future, that's for sure. 

Scott stops for a minute, cocking his head to the side. "Are you really calling it a pup?" 

"Yeah. Why?" 

"How does Malia feel about that?" 

"I don't know. She hasn't said she _doesn't_ like it. Can we focus here?" 

"Right, yeah. If you don't want to talk to Peter, what about Derek?" 

Stiles makes a face. Derek Hale has never been one of his top ten favorite people. He's definitely no Peter, and he's a permanent part of the pack at this point, but Stiles isn't calling him up to find out what he's doing Friday night. And then there's the whole Lydia thing. Because even though Stiles swears he's moved on from his high school obsession, she's still Lydia. And he's seen Derek's track record: they're usually doomed or deadly, and he'd rather Lydia wasn't either of those things. And _then_ there's the added fact that he's Malia's cousin, the only family she really still has contact with.

Seriously, his biggest mistake in life was falling for a Hale. If he had only known her true parentage in Eichen House... 

"We're _not_ going to Derek." But Scott doesn't even have to say anything because they both already know. What other option do they have? Stiles sighs, already shaking his head. "We're going to Derek, aren't we?" 

\---- 

"Shouldn't we knock?" 

"Derek doesn't care if I let myself in if Lydia's not here." 

"How do you know she's not here?" 

"Because it smells like she's been here, but she's not here anymore." 

"How long has she been coming for?" 

"A while." 

"And you never thought to tell anyone else this?" 

"You didn't ask." 

Malia's been here enough times now to know that Derek wants her to feel at home in his loft, and part of that is not knocking. It started way back when she was still relatively new to this whole being human thing, and she mostly forgot to knock. But he told her that she was family, which meant that she could always come there if she needed something, and even though she didn't understand what that meant at the time, she learned to appreciate his open-door policy over time. Scott was the one she went to with most of her questions, but on the few occasions when she had been curious about her father - her biological father - or the natural-born family she was a part of, she had come to Derek. 

What's weird is being here with Stiles now. Because even though she thinks of them as both being family, Derek and Stiles have always belonged to very separate parts of her life. Derek is her cousin, and Stiles is her mate. They're both part of the pack, but two very different sides. And she's somewhere in the middle. 

But it was Stiles who said that they should come here, and she was the one who didn't want to wait, despite the fact that her head still feels a little foggy from the drug she took the night before. He tried to argue that they could go tomorrow, or even the next day, but that was _after_ he told her that Derek might know something about this shifting she can't control. And she doesn't want to wait any longer to find out how she can stop it. 

Most of the time, she doesn't feel any different. Stiles watches her all the time, and his dad has been acting different, too, asking her more questions. Even Scott smells a little more like Stiles lately, all anxious nerves and apprehension. And most of the time, she wants to tell them to just stop because she's fine, really. She feels fine, and she doesn't need anything, and she'll let Stiles know if that changes. She promises. She _swears_. 

But she _hates_ the shifting. 

It's like being a new human again, when Stiles would restrain her in the basement of Lydia's lake house and she would struggle against the animal that lay dormant inside of her most of the time. It was like it had a mind of its own, making her do things and say things and even think things that she didn't remember deciding to do or say or think. She would struggle to stay in control, and then she would struggle against the cuffs holding her against the wall. Afterwards, her wrists were always raw and her mind was exhausted, and she didn't know if she should feel defeated or determined to do better next time. But she got better at it. She learned to control it and fight against it and _win_. And now she gets stuck in these shifting patterns, constantly fighting to stay human until she's so worn, she doesn't care if she's a coyote or a girl. 

And she _hates_ it. 

So she's here with Stiles, even though it feels weird. And at least she's not the only one to think so, because before she can even answer him when he asks what she needs, he asks, "Why's Stiles here?" 

She can sense Stiles's frustration before he says a word, so she grabs his hand before he has a chance to talk, a signal she learned from him. It was his little reminder that Lydia, Allison, Scott - they were all friends. Now, it's hers - Derek is family. 

"Because we want to talk to you. We want to know what you know about natural-born wolves." 

Derek is silent as he looks at her, then Stiles, then her again. And when she's starting to wonder if maybe he missed _her_ cue, his face breaks into a wide smile. She doesn't know if she's ever seen Derek smile like that before. 

"Really?" 

Stiles, on the other hand, looks just as annoyed as his scent leads her to believe. He pulled his hand away from hers in order to cross his arms over his chest, and she's half tempted to pull them apart in order to take his hand again. "Really what?" he asks. 

"Who wants to know?" Derek counters as he leans against the table between them, palms pressed to the surface. "You or Scott?" 

Now, she's confused as she looks to Stiles, the one who's always supplied her with answers. "Why would Scott want to know?" 

"That's a good question," Stiles says as he moves to mirror Derek's stance, hands against the table as he leans forward. "Why _would_ Scott want to know?" But Derek is still smiling. 

"Because if Allison's pregnant, they probably want to know what that new wolf is capable of." 

"Who ever said anything about anyone being pregnant?" Stiles asks, and even though his voice stays even, Malia can smell his fear. She's pretty sure that means Derek can, too.

"So she is." 

"No. She's not." 

"Well, someone is. Why else would you need to know about a natural-born?" 

"Maybe we found one traipsing through the woods." 

"Was it wearing a nametag that said "Hello, I'm Natural-Born" too?" 

"Maybe it was." 

"Or maybe Scott's about to have a little natural-born wolf, and he's starting to freak out a little." 

She’s starting to get frustrated listening to the two of them. This is why she wanted to come alone to talk to Derek. Stiles always has these elaborate plans for everything they do, and sometimes, she just wants answers. Most of the time, she doesn’t understand why they can’t just ask for those answers. She rolls her eyes before she finally jumps in, her patience already gone, her claws a visible sign of her frustration. “It’s not Scott,” she tells him. “It’s us.” 

Both of them are suddenly looking at her, having forgotten about each other. Stiles’s eyes are wide, and she remembers only then that part of the plan had been to only tell Derek about the baby if he _asked_ first. Derek, on the other hand, is no longer smiling, and his eyes might be even wider. 

“You’re serious.” It’s one of those phrases it took forever for her to understand (because why would she have said it if she wasn’t serious?), but she knows to nod now. And then Derek has moved on to Stiles instead. “Stiles, I gotta admit, I didn’t think you had it in you.” 

“Well, thanks for _that_ vote of confidence. But _ **I**_ did that. That is _**my**_ handiwork. And that..." She's about to stop him because she can sense Derek's building frustration. But Stiles must pick up on the way his expression has iced over, too. " _That_ ," he says, gesturing towards her with his hand, "is your cousin. So I'll stop now." 

Malia shoots Stiles a glare of her own before she turns back to Derek. Outside, Stiles had asked her if she was sure she didn't want to wait in the Jeep. Now, she wishes she had thought to ask him the same because she would probably have all of her answers by now if it weren't for him and his mouth. "What do you know about natural-born wolves?" she asks, trying to steer the conversation back to their intended destination. And Derek only glares at Stiles for another second or two before he gives her his full attention. He knows her well enough by now to know that she doesn't understand small talk. She likes to get right to the point, and she thinks he's always appreciated that about her.

"I know enough to know that wolves are wolves. Natural-born or bitten, it doesn't make much difference. Look at me and Scott." There's a sense of relief that comes with hearing that. Even though Stiles tells her stories about ruined lockers and traumatized strangers and close calls with Allison, Malia's always felt so much more like an animal than Scott seems. It's reassuring to know that it's not because she was born with this animal in her blood, the same way her own baby will be. But that still doesn't help them now. 

"Well, what about before they're born," Stiles asks. "How different are they supposed to be?" She can sense the wolf's curiosity as he looks between the two of them again. Stiles is biting his thumb nail now, a bundle of nervous energy that she wants to calm, if only so she doesn't have to experience it secondhand any longer. 

"Why? What's going on?" 

And they tell him. They take turns as they talk about these awful shifting cycles she gets stuck in. Stiles describes the way it looks and sounds, and he includes parts she doesn't even know if she remembers, about when she's been stuck like that for hours and she can barely keep fighting. And she tells him how it feels like her first full moon, how she feels out of control and weak, how it feels like it's never going to end. They tell him about Deaton and the sedatives she's been using to cope, but Stiles is careful to add that this last bout was worse than the first, and they share the fear that the next time will be worse still. 

Derek has little to share in return. Even though he is heir to the largest natural-born family they know, he doesn't remember anything like that ever happening to his aunts or his mother. In fact, he doesn't remember much at all about the babies who have come and gone in the Hale family. And now, she's frustrated. Her claws are bared again as she fights against the urge to go after him, even though some barely rational part of her human brain knows it's not his fault he can't give them more help. 

"I want to see it happen," he says when they've both become discouraged and Stiles is on the verge of letting his mouth cross another line (she knows him well enough to be able to sense that too now). 

"Well, I can't just do it on command." 

Derek looks to Stiles instead of answering her. "Get her here next time. If I can see what's happening, maybe I can help." 

Stiles is silent for a second, looking at her like he's trying to sense her own emotions, and then he turns back to Derek. "We said she's shifting uncontrollably, and your solution is to put her in a _car_ and bring her here?" 

Derek leans forward again, seeming to grow in size and Stiles seems to pull back a little. "I don't _have_ a solution. I'm telling you to do everything you can to find one. And I can't help if I don't know what's happening." 

She agrees before Stiles can say anything else. It's not Stiles who has to put up with this, and she thinks she'd be willing to do a lot more than just suffer another car trip to have this go away. 

\---- 

Her father is next; the father who raised her, not the one who made the same mistake Stiles did and then shed his title there. She's had little contact - and by little, Stiles means none - with him since she moved in back when they were still in high school, but his dad kept insisting that it was the _right thing_ to tell him, and no one rides a guilt trip better than Stiles. It's just that... He's never been comfortable with Mr. Tate. Not even before he met Malia, back when he had needed something to work towards, some sort of distraction, and she had been it. And the way he looks at Malia makes it a thousand times worse. He knows - God, Stiles knows better than anyone else how difficult life was for Malia when she first came back, but she needed patience and compassion and someone to _help_ her learn. And instead, she had a father who sent her to Eichen House and didn't make much more effort than that when she came back home. 

So breaking the news to him had gone about as well as Malia's last math class. He had mostly stared at the two of them, seeming to wonder what they were doing there telling him just as much as Stiles did. But hey, at least he didn't threaten Stiles's life for knocking up his daughter. That's a plus, right? 

But Malia? Malia is a tiny little mess for the entire hour dinner with her father lasts. Her claws dig tiny half moon holes in the knee of his khakis, and they're lucky her dad was distracted the few times her eyes flashed that bright, brilliant blue. By the time they're in the car, he's getting seriously concerned she's on the verge of another shifting war, but she promises she'll only wolf out on him if he asks if she's sure she's okay _one more time._

Back home, he kisses her before the door's even all the way closed, asking her to just forget about everything else for a little while. Because somewhere along the way, he guesses that this became the way he comforts her too, and now that sex is off the table, he's kind of at a loss. 

_Talk about a guilt trip._

He just feels like they could take things _slow_ and _gentle_ and she would be fine. But when his hand brushes against her chest, she yelps because apparently she's sore _there_ and hasn't mentioned anything because it's one of those things she still doesn't quite understand about this body. And it's one too many reminders for her that four years later, she still sometimes struggles to be a human. 

And all he wants to do is take her adorable little face in his hands and tell her that _they all do._

"Not now," she tells him gently instead, leaving him with one last kiss before she's disappearing into the guest room to change into the clothes she'll run in. She's always opted for physical activities over emotional ones; she's just learned to substitute one for the other. 

His dad walks in the door as she's pulling on her shoes, so at least he won't be all on his own to sit and think about what an awful hand she's been dealt. Still, he'd rather be with her, trying his best to help her process this situation that's so confusing to her. "You sure I can't come with?" 

She scrunches up her nose as she straightens, pulling her hair up in a ponytail the way he has always believed Lydia taught her to do; the two girls look nearly identical doing it. "You're too slow. I just want to run." 

"Well, be careful, okay?" he says, moving his hand under her face to run his thumb over her chin before leaning in to kiss her. 

"I know. If I feel shifty, I try to call Scott, then you." With one last quick kiss, she's already heading out the door. 

"Me first, then Scott!" He yells after her, even though he's pretty sure she can't hear anymore. "Always me first!" 

"Ah, I remember when I used to come before Scott too." With Malia gone, Stiles finally acknowledges the fact that his father's there, turning back around to face him. If it were a few weeks ago and he was feeling brave - hell, if it was a few hours ago and he was feeling brave, he might make a joke about some of the lists he tops Scott on, but even Stiles is smart enough to realize that jokes like that are a huge no-no for the time being. "So the shifting thing?" His dad asks, taking away even the possibility of a joke, which is probably for the best. 

"Still pretty shifty." 

His dad nods, his mouth a tight line that Stiles knows from years of conversations like this means he doesn't approve of the joke, but he's not going to call him out on it. "But she's okay?" 

Stiles nods, rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit. For a long time, Malia's lived here, and even though his dad would talk to her and ask about her sometimes, it's never been this... constant. And it's really kind of weird still. "Yeah, she's okay. Aside from the whole shifting thing. She's frustrated," he says as he nods towards the door, almost like she's still there, "so she went running." 

"How'd it go with her dad?" Originally, his dad had said that he would accompany them to the dinner from hell, but then he got called in at the last minute. And honestly, Stiles is pretty damn grateful for that now. It's for the best that his dad didn't witness that trainwreck firsthand. 

"Oh, it was freaking _fan_ tastic, Dad." He scoffs, then shakes his head as he looks down at the floor. "He's such an asshole." 

He knows that one was crossing a line, but he doesn't care. His dad, of all people, should really understand. Sure, Malia's dad lost his wife and his little girl, but look at the two of them. They lost his mom a decade ago, and it hasn't changed the way they treat other people. It might have taken his dad nearly that long to finally go out on a date, but he didn't turn into an asshole. Stiles likes to think he didn't either. But judging from his dad's expression, he definitely still crossed a line. 

"Stiles, he's her father. Which means you respect him." 

"You weren't there, okay?" he argues against his better judgement, but he's had it. He was trying to do the right thing, talking to Mr. Tate, and _that_ came back to bite him in the ass. And he'd really like to be talking this out with his girlfriend, but she'd rather be by herself. "He asked if we were there because we were looking for money because he didn't have any to share. And Malia didn't even know what to say because her brain doesn't even _work_ that way. She doesn't understand doing anything just for money. He doesn't even _know_ that about her." 

His dad watches him for a minute in silence before finally clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You're right. He's an asshole." 

" _Thank_ you." 

"But you still have to respect him. And you did the right thing, telling him." Hand still on his shoulder, his dad pulls him closer into a side hug. "You know, I'm really proud of you." 

Stiles cocks his head to the side, not sure what to make of that. He's actually gotten kind of used to the permanent aura of disappointment. He thought it might actually stick around for a while longer. Like, for the rest of his life. "Is that sarcasm?" he finally asks. "Because I really prefer when I get to be the sarcastic one. 

"That was sincere. You're handling this much better than I would’ve at your age." 

Stiles scoffs again. "I'm _so_ not handling this well. _She_ is. She's so, like, _zen_ , while I'm over here breathing into a paper bag." 

His dad laughs, finally pulling away as he starts to move farther into the house, probably to turn on whatever's left of whatever game is still on. His dad likes his routines, and that's always been a comfort to Stiles who clearly tends to panic when things get this far off track.But even as he heads into the other room, his dad continues the conversation. "Your mom was like that too." 

And that's more than enough to make him follow. His mom's never been an outlawed topic in the Stilinski house. In fact, his dad had always made a point of encouraging him to still talk about her, and his dad was forever sharing stories. But he could probably count on one hand the number of times he's heard his dad talk about this era of their life before Stiles. "Really?" 

His dad nods as he takes a spot on the couch and Stiles does the same on the loveseat across from him. "I'll have you know that you were much more planned than this, but your mom - she was immediately a mom. And I was terrified. To this day, it's the scariest thing I've ever done." 

Stiles sighs, almost commiserating with his father of Two Decades Past. "Tell me about it. And you didn't have to worry about me being a pup with fangs and claws... and fur." 

"It's a _baby_ ," his dad reminds him, the same way he's taken to correcting him every time hears the word pup. "And it's _your_ baby. It's the hardest thing you'll ever do," his dad says, "But it'll be one of the best, too." 

Stiles is silent for a while, somehow feeling the weight of all of this more than ever yet strangely somehow lighter all at the same time. He thinks he's too tired to reason that out, so he'll just go with it. Embrace the lightness for now. 

"Yeah?" 

"Absolutely." 

By the time Malia is back, seeming decidedly less frustrated with her comprehension and reasoning skills, he's feeling a little more zen himself. They've gotten through two dads so far without any major incidents. She doesn't do that weird shifting thing at all during the night. And he knows that it's early, _way_ too early, but he's starting to feel like he might be up for this challenge after all. 

\---- 

Allison comes next. She likes it once Allison knows. Actually, she likes it _a lot_. She's always liked Allison; she was always doing something a little extra to help Malia acclimate herself to life in the pack. Plus, she's done so much for Stiles. It took a lot of convincing before Stiles started to forgive himself for the near-fatal injury she had suffered at the hands of the Oni, but it was mostly Allison who was doing said convincing. And then she was always there, giving him lessons on dating a werecreature better than anyone else ever could have. It's nice for Stiles to have another human around, too, she thinks. They complement each other well. 

So when Scott asks if he can tell Allison, there's never really any discussion. Allison is a part of the pack, and there's no reason the pack can't know. And then Allison wants to come home for the weekend immediately, and there is no argument on anyone's part. 

More than anything, she's grateful for the distraction when Scott and Allison show up on Friday night. Because as much as she loves Stiles, he's starting to drive her crazy. He watches her constantly when they're together, like he's afraid she'll take off and run if he looks away for even a second. And he's always asking her how she's feeling, and she can never answer right. If she tells him how she feels physically, then he asks _but how does she **feel**_ after she's given her answer. And if she tells him how she feels emotionally, then he asks _but how does she **feel**_ after she's given her answer. And it feels like she's back to being newly human, when she would meet every day with a social worker she fantasized about tearing to shreds. She doesn't want to do that to Stiles, but still. He's one step away from putting her on house arrest lately, too, and he's always this mess of nerves and fear and apprehension, and it's starting to make her nauseous. Sometimes, she feels like she can't breathe when she's with him.

She loves him, she _really_ does, but she needs a break. And a night out with Scott and Allison sounds perfect. 

It would've been perfect... Had they gotten that far. 

When Allison gets there, of course, they have to talk about the pup first (She's heard Stiles say it so many times now, it's kind of just... stuck?) because she wants to know about this weird shifting thing that they still haven't been able to figure out. And then she tells them what she knows (Chris Argent can also be added to the list now, having heard from his daughter). Like that her father knew Talia Hale back when her children would've been born, but he doesn't remember anything unusual. And there's nothing in the bestiary about natural-born wolves or pups causing problems, or werecoyotes being _that_ different. And then, when Malia _finally_ feels like she's going to get her break from all of this pup stuff they've been surrounded by, Liam calls. 

Now that he's away at school, sometimes, she forgets that Liam is a part of the pack. She knows that he spends a lot of time with Scott, and that he keeps in pretty constant contact with Stiles, too, but he's always been younger than them. He just finished high school in the spring, and even though he's a part of the pack, he's not close enough of a friend to be invited on a camping trip or to ever go out on a double date with. But there's something that happened with a girl tonight, a girl who he thinks might've saw his claws or his fangs or his eyes, and now she's a girl who is being held captive in his bedroom because he doesn't know what else to do. Allison laughs when Scott gets off the phone, even though Malia doesn't think it's nearly as funny. She says it's something about the "irony," like Scott and Stiles might've done the same thing when they were his age. But no matter how entertaining it is, it still means they leave together, and their plans are off. 

Malia groans as soon as they’ve left the room, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling as she falls back on Stiles's bed where she had been sitting. "I just wanted to go out." 

Allison's smile is wide when she leans over, giving Malia no choice but to look up at her. "So why can't we still?" 

And she's right. There's no reason why they can't still go out. Their plans change. Without the boys there, Allison suggests a shopping trip. Shopping was something else Malia didn't understand at first, but it's Lydia's favorite pastime, and Allison loves it too, so she's been dragged along enough times to at least tolerate it now. It took time, but they taught her how to appreciate more human things, like clothes and magazines and Friday night movies. So she goes along with Allison, grateful for a night where no one's watching her like a hawk or asking if she's feeling shifty yet. Allison holds up things for her, pulling at the material sometimes before telling Malia that she thinks it would be a good _investment_ , something she'll _still be able to wear for a while._ And Malia feels more grateful for Allison than she ever has before because even though she's known that this body she was just starting to feel comfortable in will start to change, she never thought about the fact that the clothes she's just gotten used to will no longer fit. 

Maybe it's because she's so grateful, or maybe it's because she hasn't seen Allison since the camping trip, unlike Stiles who is a constant in her life, but when Allison starts asking questions, she doesn't feel annoyed. "I'm fine," she says when the brunette asks her how she is. 

"You feel fine?" 

She stops and thinks it over for a minute. She feels _different_ , but she never knows how to describe that. And she doesn't know if it's really because something is different already, or if it's just because in her head, she knows something is different already. "When I'm not shifting, I just feel the same." She shrugs her shoulders, and Allison nods. The other girl bites her lip to keep from smiling when she talks again. 

"What about Stiles?" 

"He's freaking out," Malia says with absolutely no hesitation, sounding as frustrated as she feels. "He can't sit still, and he watches me all the time. _All_ the time." 

Allison laughs, turning away from the sale rack she's been flipping through to finally look at Malia. "He's just worried about you. That's worry _looks_ like." 

Malia sighs, sounding more like a huff than she means it to. "I know. I can smell it on him. But I keep telling him I'm fine." 

"Except for when you're shifting." 

"Except for when I'm shifting." 

"And you never know when that'll happen," she says, turning back to the sale rack, but still looking up at Malia, like maybe Malia won't notice. But of course, she notices. 

"Right." 

"That's why he worries." The brunette is quiet for a while, and Malia thinks the conversation is over. At least, she thinks it's over until Allison finally speaks. "Plus, this is a big deal. It's a _really_ big deal. You guys are having a _baby_." 

This is what she struggles with. She says that word - _baby_ \- the same way Scott said it at first, and the same way Stiles's dad said it the first time he sat them down to talk. But she understands that it's a baby, and she knows what that means. She's very much aware of what her body is doing now, even if she was clueless just four years ago about anything and everything having to do with being a girl again. But this- this she gets. She _really_ gets it, and it doesn't feel like a _really_ big deal. 

"I know," she finally says, despite her lack of understanding. "But this just feels... _right_." As soon as she's said it, she looks up quickly at Allison. "Did I sound crazy when I said that?" 

"No, not crazy," Allison reassures her right away. Then she cocks her head to the side, studying Malia hard. She looks so much like Scott when she does that; they have the same look of contemplation. Malia wonders if her friend knows that, and then she immediately wonders if there are ever moments when she looks like Stiles. "It actually makes sense," Allison finally says, a smile now on her lips that she doesn't try to hide. "This is just so... so _natural_. Of course, it feels right to you." 

And that's just it. It _does_ feel natural. Like this is what she's meant to do. She feels nervous when she thinks about it sometimes, but mostly, she just feels like this might be the first human experience she'll get right on the first try. Kind of like that night in Eichen House with Stiles. When it's her body and not her brain that's responsible, she just _knows_ what to do. And she _likes_ that. Even when it scares her. She loves that this feels natural, like she was born to do this and nothing can get in her way of doing this well. 

She likes the pup, too. She doesn't tell Allison that, but there's something about being able to sense it's heartbeat, to sense that it's there at all. It's almost a comfort, in a way. Having this tiny little person whose heartbeat she can already recognize so well. 

Everything about this feels natural. 

Except for the shifting. 

\---- 

Lydia is the last person on the list. And she's the only one to find out by complete happenstance. 

On the way back from saving the day for Liam yet again, Stiles laments - aloud - the fact that they didn't leave _him_ barricaded in his bedroom until he starves or succombs to something else that includes an equal amount of suffering. He's told Scott that he made a mistake with that one one too many times at this point, plus he now has a mistake of his own that he's still learning how to defend, so he doesn't ask why they didn't just knock him out and leave him in the lake years ago. But he does make it clear that he doesn't think they'll still be saving him from his own stupid mistakes. 

After all, who was there to save him and Scott from their own idiotic ideas? (It turns out that Derek _and_ his dad were there for them, and after that reminder from his best friend, Stiles is mostly quiet on the way home.) 

The one nice thing about Liam and his bad ideas is that it's been a nice break for his tired brain. He hasn't been worried about Malia or the pup or his impending life-altering changes that he can't ever ignore. As frustrated as he is with the youngest member of the pack, he feels lighter than he's felt in weeks, thanks to the very same wolf and his own way poor decisions. 

And then, as soon as they've walked back in the door, it hits him all at once. 

"Stiles?" he hears Allison call before he even has the door closed all the way. And he knows that voice. Because even though it's calm and even, it's _too_ calm and even. Like she's forcing herself to stay that calm and even for someone else's benefit. That voice makes his blood run cold. "Can you come here?" 

" _Shit_ ," he curses under his breath, and then he's jogging off in the direction of her voice. The girls are in the guest room, Malia's closet open like they were in the middle of something else when this started. Malia is sitting on the very edge of the bed, claws curled up around fistfuls of the comforter covering the bed. She's already made it to that convulsions stage, and Stiles makes it to the door just in time to see her get physically sick from the force of shifting, coupled with the effort it takes to resist it. 

“When did this start? How long has it been going on for? Why didn’t you _call_?” He asks in rapid succession, not really giving her a chance to answer any one of his questions. He may have only witnessed this twice before, but he knows now that it follows a pattern. By now, it’s probably been an hour since she started fighting against tiny little twitches that would eventually lead to a shift. An hour ago, he would’ve happily left Liam to fend for himself. 

But he's wrong. 

“Ten minutes, maybe 15,” she says, somehow sounding just as calm even as he feels that tight fist of panic form in his chest. She’s holding Malia’s hand, much closer than even Stiles was willing to be that very first time only ten minutes into it. “I would’ve called, but my phone’s downstairs, and I didn’t want to leave her.” 

“Ten _minutes_?” he asks, still not convinced he could have possibly heard her right. But he definitely heard right. " _Shit_." Malia's eyes are closed, her chest rising and falling quickly as she either fights against a trigger or recovers one more time. He crouches down in front of her, resting a hand on her knee. "Malia?" he asks gently, trying to gauge just how in control she is at the moment. He gets his answer when her eyes fly open, already bright blue, and she responds in something that's a cross between a snarl and a growl. Pulling back, he loses his balance, falling hard to the hardwood floor. "Okay," he says in the silence that follows, looking between Allison and Scott and his girlfriend who's giving that little girl from _The Exorcist_ a run for her money right about now. "We should get going." 

"Going?" Scott asks from the doorway where he's stayed since happening upon this scene he's probably feeling a little too familiar with. "Where are we going?" 

Stiles sighs as he gets back to his feet because he _swears_ he told Scott this plan, but he's also been averaging an hour and a half of sleep a night, so it might be one of a thousand conversations they really only had in his head. "Derek's." 

" _Derek's_?" Scott and Allison ask in perfect unison. 

Before he's even had a chance to formulate an explanation, Malia's spoken in a voice that's decidedly more human. "He's trying to help." 

Knowing she's at least still mostly human, Stiles chooses to ignore Scott's confusion, figuring she could use him a little more at the moment. "Okay, Malia," he says as he crouches down in front of her, trying not to wince in preparation when he places his hand against her shoulder. "Finding the baby worked last time, right?" 

"It made it better," she says, somewhere between an agreement and a protest. 

"Okay, so just try to do that again, okay? Try to focus on the baby." 

Even though this bout of shifting and turning just started, she's already made it to the eye of the storm. As soon as she starts shaking again, he doesn't even bother to ask her if she thinks she can make it to the car on her own. Scott carries her out again, and there's never really a discussion about going together before Scott is claiming shotgun again and Allison is getting into the back with Malia. 

"I swear to God," Stiles says, more to himself than anyone else in the car as he backs out of the driveway. "I'm going to kill Liam." 

There's a few iffy moments, but they all make it to Derek's loft in once piece. Stiles continuously reminds her to keep her focus on the baby until she hisses at him to just shut up. And he listens because as much as he loves her, she's really freaking him out right now. It's in his best interest to listen to the she-wolf when she's very much her she-wolf self. Scott carries her up to the loft once they're there, and Stiles pounds on the door for what feels like a small eternity, hard enough to leave a bruise on the side of his hand, until Derek finally opens it. 

It doesn't register that Derek is shirtless and only wearing sweats until they're inside and Stiles finds where the wolf's shirt went: It's on Lydia. But he's already rattled enough by the way Malia's started to whimper, sometimes sounding like someone is physically hurting her, to really process what this means right away. Instead, he lets Scott set her down on the couch, all of them watching as she curls up on her side, then bares her fangs and lashes out at Scott. And then only a minute or two later, she's curling more tightly around herself as she whimpers. 

"This is it," Stiles finally says with a motion of his hand, feeling jittery now that they're there. Derek is watching her like she's some kind of experiment, and Stiles really just wants to slip her the sedative that's in his pocket. 

"It's like this every time?" 

"No. Only when she can't control it," he says, resorting to sarcasm now that he's getting anxious. "This is the third time. But normally, it takes a few hours to reach this point. It hasn't even been _an_ hour yet. Now do you get it?" He steps forward to try to help her, but Derek holds his arm out, stopping Stiles in his tracks. 

"Wait. Give her a minute." 

''For _what_?" 

"For her to find an anchor." He steps a little closer as she starts shaking again, fighting hard to stay in control, and he talks a little louder when he addresses her. "Malia, there has to be an anchor. Find it." 

"You think she hasn't tried that? She _can't_ find it." 

"Give her. A _minute_." 

Stiles's hands are fisted at his side. If he hadn't learned his lesson time and time again, he'd probably try to take Derek right now, but he knows from experience that he can't. Out of pure desperation, he concentrates hard on trying to give Scott enough nonverbal clues to make him shift and take Derek out for all of their benefits. But Malia growls again, moving like she's about to lunge before she once again gets it under control. When she finds him standing a few feet from the arm of the couch, she meets his gaze with her still bright blue eyes and holds it steady enough for him to know that this is really her. All her. 

"Make it stop," she pleads, and he can't say no to her. 

It takes all of two minutes to hand over that tiny drug and then wait until she's stable enough to take it. "You're okay," he tells her as she continues to shake, waiting for it to kick in. "Just focus on the pup." She doesn't really need a focus anymore, but she needs a distraction, and he doesn't know what else to offer. Her eyelids are just beginning to grow heavy when his attention is pulled away to the voice behind him. 

" _What_. The hell was _that_?" 

_Lydia_. God, he forgot Lydia was even there. Lydia who is wearing only Derek _freaking_ Hale's shirt while his girlfriend who is currently pregnant _and_ sedated is laid out on Derek _freaking_ Hale's couch. As he looks over at her standing there barefoot with her arms crossed over her chest, he's starting to feel like he might have to put his head between his legs again to keep from feeling so lightheaded. 

"Stiles, you okay?" He hears a voice that he _thinks_ belongs to Allison say, but his forehead is pressed against his hands right now, and he's not feeling too confident about lifting it. "Scott... you think he's okay?" 

"Will someone please tell me what Stiles and his rabid girlfriend are doing here right now!?" 

_That_ catches his attention for sure. His head snaps up and he looks right at Lydia. "What the hell, Lydia!? She's pregnant, not _rabid_!" 

He can still feel his pulse throbbing in his head as he starts to feel a little more steady, but other than that it's silent after he's spoken. Malia is lost to the world on the couch while Lydia stares at him like she can't even comprehend what he just said. And he can definitely relate to that expression. He feels like he's in the middle of the _Twilight Zone_ right now. A really, really bad episode that never should have been allowed to air in the first place. 

"I told them to come," Derek finally says when Lydia doesn't say anything more and Stiles doesn't supply any more for an answer. "She's been shifting like this, and they can't figure out how to stop it." 

"What about now?" Stiles asks, his knee starting to bounce as he watches Derek. But the guy perfected his stoneface years ago, probably back when he was a pup. So there's no way to figure out what he's thinking. "You know how to stop it?" He never actually says it, but Derek's mouth is set in a line that speaks volumes: he has no idea how to help her. Instead, he says that he wants to see what happens when she wakes up. Which just means more waiting. And then someone notices the fact that Allison's hand is bleeding in the places where Malia's claws sunk into her skin. She promises it's not that bad - or that deep - but both Derek and Scott are determined to see the deep scratches for themselves. 

Which leaves just him... and Lydia. 

"A baby?" she asks as he slides down to rest on the floor right in front of the couch with a sigh. He always feels so exhausted at this point, he has no clue how tired Malia must feel. "You? And a _baby_?" 

He nods silently, not knowing what else to say. Lydia will forever be one of his closest friends, but there's a history of sorts there. She was there through some of the worst experiences in his life for years, and she knew how he felt about her for most of that time. His feelings don't go much past friendship any more, but there's still enough of a past there to make this a little weird for both of them. At least, when they're discussing his baby-to-be while she's wearing only her boyfriend's t-shirt. After another minute, he lets his head fall back against the couch before looking over at her. "You and _Derek_?" 

She only shrugs her shoulders, almost like she doesn't exactly understand how she ended up in his bed either, but that doesn't change the fact that she thinks it feels right or at least better than the way things were before. "He offered to help me with the whole banshee thing. The rest kind of just... happened." She's silent for a minute, watching him like she thinks he might be about to start growling and baring his fangs too. "How are you doing?" she finally asks. 

"Oh, you know. Lots of panicking, lots of worrying, lots of this." 

"What about Malia?" 

"When she's not doing this? I want some of whatever they gave her. It's like it's no big deal." 

Lydia's silent for a long time. So long, he wonders if _she_ might benefit from putting her head down for a while. But then she looks right at him again, free of whatever daze she was under. "Because she's a coyote," Lydia reasons aloud. "Think about it. Animals have babies all the time. It _isn't_ a big deal." He's thought of that too, and he thinks Lydia may be on to something, but it still worries him. How can he convince Malia that this is a big deal? Like, the biggest deal _ever_. And should he be trying to convince her of that, or should he be letting her thrive on this maternal instinct that she was probably born with? 

"Well, it's a huge deal. And this isn't making it any easier." Lydia's quiet after that, like she's still contemplating all that she's learned. It seriously drives him crazy, but he's learned from years of being friends with a banshee that sometimes, it's best to just let her have her time. 

In the meantime, his overworked brain is still very much distracted. Because this is Lydia and Derek _motherloving_ Hale. And because he can count the times Lydia has been less put together on one hand. It takes fewer fingers to count the times she hasn't seemed to care. "Do you realize you're only wearing Derek's shirt right now?" he asked after a minute, his smirk definitely giving away the fact that he's enjoying the inappropriateness of her wardrobe choices for the company they do have. He's not saying he's enjoying the view, just that for once, the fact that Malia's pregnancy isn't the most shocking thing in the room. 

She tugs at the hem of the t-shirt where it lays across the middle of her thighs, obviously uncomfortable now. "Do you realize you knocked up your girlfriend?" 

"You're right," he agrees with a quick nod. "We're totally even." 

"Not even close." 

\----

Peter is the name on everyone's lips now, except for Stiles, and Malia doesn't understand. He stopped sleeping the same time his dad tried to enforce their separate rooms (a rule that’s been revoked in the hopes that it would convince Stiles to sleep again - It hasn’t), and now Scott has made more than one nogitsune reference when he’s seen the shadows under his eyes. He skips class more often than not, and even though he’s constantly on his computer or his phone, she knows him well enough to know that he’s not researching anything for school. He still watches her constantly, even though they figured out that it only happens at night, and that she always has at least a week before it happens again. And the scent of his anxious nerves surrounds him so thickly now, she doesn’t understand how he can even breathe. Sometimes, he can’t - Since that afternoon at the hospital with Melissa, he’s had a second panic attack, though she only heard that one through the wall… and the floor… and the door. His dad was the one to talk him out of that one. 

But all of these seem to be pretty good reasons to go to Peter, if you ask her... But he hasn't. 

He promises her that they're going to figure this out, but there's no one left to ask. He spends his afternoons researching anchors and triggers and baby werecoyotes (even though she's pretty sure there isn't anything on the internet for that last search), but they haven't found anything that even came close to working. He's constantly brainstorming with Scott or bugging Derek, and she's starting to feel like she's the only person he _doesn't_ talk to about... well, her. 

And if he stopped just long enough to talk to her, she'd tell him that she wants to go to Peter. Once again, she's good at separating things, probably because she was a girl in the body of an animal for so many crucial parts of her development. She can think about things objectively better than most girls her age, and she can separate Peter and the help he might be able to offer from Peter who is very much her father, even if he'll never play a role in her life. Really, she just wants this whole shifting mess to stop, and she's willing to talk to almost anyone if they could make that happen. But Stiles is stubborn, and Stiles is certain that they don't need Peter. 

At least, that _was_ his attitude. 

Tonight, it's only been four days since the ordeal at Derek's, but she can already sense it. For a while, she tries to convince herself that it's like the flu; the way he kissed her caused a tiny little twinge, and now she's convinced she's about to shift even though she's really just fine. She tries to distract herself with her homework, laid out on Stiles's bed with her head at the foot of the bed while he rests with his back against the headboard. It's only been four days; it has to be in her head. 

"And Lydia also said she'd come home in a couple of weeks to take you shopping. If you, you know, want," he says, and she realizes only then that he's been talking to her for a while. She props herself up on her elbow as she glances back at him.

"What?" 

Instead of responding, he sets his laptop to the side, scooting closer to her end of the bed as his eyebrows furrow together in a look of worry to match his scent. "Hey, you okay?" he asks as he reaches out to cup her cheek. "You're looking a little shifty." 

"I feel a little shifty," she admits without hesitation. Ever since they realized she couldn't shift when she was supposed to, she's been very honest about everything she's felt. And then, as if her body is only trying to confirm her beliefs, she feels that familiar tension begin somewhere in her middle and spread until each of her muscles is taut and strained. She groans with the effort it takes to fight against it, closing her eyes as she concentrates and then opening them again to find everything a little brighter and more defined - a sure sign that her eyes have turned blue. "Definitely shifty." 

"Are you sure? It's only been four days." She grits her teeth as she closes her eyes again, now fighting to keep from raising her voice to him along with fighting to stay human. 

"Positive." 

"Okay... okay." It's like she can hear the wheels in his mind turning as he tries to process this unexpected turn of events and somehow plot a solution. "Okay, so why don't you try to find an anchor?" 

Immediately, she feels betrayed. The last time, Derek had insisted that she keep trying to find an anchor, even when she was so far gone, she could barely make out what they were saying. And she had never felt more grateful - or loved - when Stiles had gone against the wolf's wishes and given her the sedative anyways. But now, he's become the Derek. He's the one keeping her from what she needs. 

"Stiles, I can't," she says as she tries to keep her voice nice and even. She pushes herself up so she's mostly sitting, her shoulders tense as she prepares herself for that next threat of shifting. 

"Come on, Malia," he encourages her, and she can sense his frustration mixed with her own. "There has to be an anchor. It has to have an anchor." 

"I don't know what it is!" She's starting to shake as she resists that next shift, and she fights to keep her breathing even. The problem is, her emotions have been a trigger more now than ever before, and she's starting to get angry. She's starting to get _really_ angry _really_ fast. 

"You gotta try. You're the only one who can do this." 

"Stiles, just _shut up_." Her words sound more like a hiss or a growl than the warning she meant them to be, but that's okay. She needs him to listen to her. She needs him to help her put this to a stop, and then she needs him to agree to find a remedy for whatever this is before it can get any worse. In less than a minute, she feels like she's back in control enough to lift her head and meet his gaze. "Please. Just make this stop." 

He watches for a long moment, and she can feel his guilt before he even speaks. His eyes scream an apology he doesn't say out loud, and she's pretty sure that the scent she just caught is shame. 

"Not until you try," he tells her, and it's just enough to set her off. 

When she shifts - really, fully shifts - now, she still stays mostly in control. She can remember what she did and where she went and what she said. She can think clearly enough to make conscious decisions that she won't regret when she's back to human form. But this is like a new moon. This is like a first shift. So when she succombs to that need to shift, it's almost like a mini blackout. She doesn't make the decision to lunge for him. She doesn't make the decision to fight back when he catches her wrists and tries to keep her claws away. She doesn't make the decision to try to overpower him, growling and snarling and trying to nip at him whenever she can get close enough. And she doesn't hear when he tries to reason with her, his panic rising until he's yelling, and still, she doesn't hear a thing. 

Somehow, it's still his voice that pulls her back. " _Malia_! It's me! It's Stiles! Listen to my voice! I'm right here!" In what couldn't be more than a split second of clarity, she manages to pull herself back. And suddenly, she's very much aware of the fact that she's on top of him, his hands clamped tightly around his wrist and his cheek starting to bleed, and she doesn't know if she's ever seen him more scared. 

"Oh my god," she says as she pulls her trembling body away from his and back against the headboard on the opposite side of the bed, as far away from him as she can get. "Oh my god." 

He's scrambling to pull himself up, too, moving closer to her despite the fact that she wouldn't be offended if he wanted to lock her up after that latest episode. "I'm so sorry. God, I'm such an asshole," he says as he finally hops up from the bed, retrieving the tiny pill she's supposed to take to prevent incidents just like this one. 

"I just can't," she tells him as her heart continues to race. "I can't find it. I tried, but I can't." 

"I know, I know. And I'm so sorry. I am so so sorry, Mal." He comes back with that sedative in his palm, and she takes it without a moment's hesitation. 

She's too focused on remaining human to talk anymore. It always takes longer than she thinks it should to kick in, and there's always this moment just before she loses consciousness when she's too weak to keep fighting it but she's not yet asleep. And then there's just nothing. She likes that the most. 

When she comes to the following morning, he's there beside her, ready with a glass of water for her dry throat and a pair of tylenol for her pounding head. They have a routine now for mornings like this, and that's a problem. 

He asks her how she's _feeling_ , and this time, she doesn't stop to debate whether she should tell him that she feels a little nauseous from the after effects of the sedative or if she should tell him that she's still a little annoyed about the way things went the night before. "Frustrated," she tells him instead, being honest with him because she really knows no other way to be, even after four years. He opens his mouth to apologize again for the way he refused to help her at first last night, but she cuts him off. "I want to talk to Peter." 

She watches the way the color drains from his face, the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows hard. She's ready for him to fight her like he did the night before, and she's ready to fight him back. They're both so stubborn, she has enough arguments to last for days if it takes that long to convince him. But she also knows that when he tells her he loves her, he really means it, and if she's persuasive enough, he'll have no choice but to cave. So it shocks her when he just responds with a very sincere question: "Are you sure?" 

"It gets worse every time," she explains, just in case he hasn't been able to tell from that side of things. "At this rate, I'll be a coyote again by the end of the month. And I don't want that." 

"Me either," he agrees without any prompting from her, and she can sense his resignation already. But she still feels like she should keep going, just in case he's still trying to decide. 

"And I keep thinking about how scared I was the first time I shifted." It's not something she ever talks about because it's also the afternoon she lost her family, even her father who was never so cold and unfeeling before the accident. "What if it's like that now for the pup?" 

It's been his name for the baby, but she's heard it so much, she's adopted it now. Plus, she likes it. It's nice to think about it being someone like her when no one else in the pack is quite the same. She also knows there's a chance he'll tell her that it can't be that way for the baby already. She knows that even though he told Scott he'd stop, he's still been searching all kinds of things on his computer. And the page about what the baby was able to do now had been left open when she went to see what he had written for an assignment for the science class they're both taking before she started her own. So he could argue that the baby's brain is just starting to form and it probably doesn't even know what it's doing. But she can also hear its heartbeat when she concentrates on finding it, and she can sense it there, it's own little person. So how can they say it's not terrified? 

His expression is sad when he looks at her now, and he still smells like guilt when he leans in to kiss her. But it's slow and soft and more of a kiss than they've shared in a couple weeks now, both of them too distracted by the sudden shifts to think about anything else. "Well, we can't have that," he says when he pulls back, brushing her hair back behind her ear and then keeping his hand against her cheek. "Not for the pup." 

"Not for the pup," she agrees before leaning in to kiss him again. She already knows that he's going to agree now. They've both been pushed to their limits, and they're left with only one more option. So they'll go to Peter, no matter how they feel about him or the things he's done in the past because he's their best chance for an answer now. And Malia doesn't know if she's ever been more sure of what it means to love someone else as she is when she settles into his arms while they both recover from what will hopefully be the last shifty night for a long, long time. 

\---- 

Peter is the last one to find out. 

It's a good thing he's the one who drives because otherwise, Stiles doesn't think he'd be able to sit still. As it is, his left leg bounces a mile a _second_ the whole way to Eichen House. It's a place he never intended to go back to after his short stay, but somehow, he seems to always find his way back. At least, he can honestly say that he never expected to be back here because of Peter Hale. But then he went and pulled a Peter Hale - or something like that - and he's been left with no choice. 

In the end, it's a series of compromises. He agrees to talk to Peter, but he doesn't want her there. Of course, she protests; he expects her to protest because she's Malia and she's tough and resilient and determined to fight her own battles, no matter how foreboding they seem. And he loves that about her, _so much_ , but he's prepared for a fight. It only takes one reminder of the way her anger set her off just a few nights ago, and she agrees to sit this one out, in favor of not landing herself back in Eichen House after they see her shift. But she wants Scott there in her place, and he tries to remind himself that he'll never understand her relationship with his best friend because he's her alpha and she's his beta, but it's hard to not feel like she may not trust him to really carry this out. But he made her a promise that they would find a way to fix this, and he's pretty sure he made a promise to the pup somewhere in there, too. So carry it out, he will. 

"We stay until we get an answer, and then we get out," he reminds his friend as he parks the car in front, trying to ignore the fear that forms a knot in the pit of her stomach, thanks to the memories this place holds. Sure, his time here may have led to his relationship with Malia, but it also ended with the nogitsune in charge while he was quarantined to the farthest corner of his own mind, too weak to regain control on his own. Who knows what else is lurking inside? "And if he won't cooperate, then you do your wolf thing. Got it?" 

They've run through all of this a million times, but Scott still humors him and nods in agreement. This is all Stiles's plan: Ms. Morrell still works there, meeting the social work needs of Beacon Hills's supernatural finest, so they contact her to make sure they'll be allowed to talk to one of the closed ward's most infamous patients. They mention their appointment with her in the lobby, and she meets them to take them to her office - then walks right past her door to the closed ward. And that's how Stiles finds himself face-to-face with the man who will unfortunately always be the biological grandfather of his child, with only a wall of glass to separate them. 

But then again, Stiles might as well be invisible, thanks to Scott. 

"Scott McCall," Peter says in way of greeting as he gets up from what must be his bed in the corner of what is essentially a cell. "What - did you come back to apologize? Or just to make sure I'm doing okay? That they're treating me well in this cage? Feeding me? Letting me out for walks?"

He scoffs at his own words as he approaches the glass, coming so close that Stiles finds his heart racing, despite the fact that it's a physical barrier separating him from them. He tries to ignore it as her clears his throat, summoning more courage than he thinks he has at the moment. "Actually, Scott's with me this time," he says as he takes a step towards the glass, too, even though it scares the hell out of him. "I want to know about Malia's mom." 

"Really? Are we still playing this same stupid game?" 

Stiles immediately looks over to Scott, unsure of how to proceed. For one, he didn't expect Peter to have any idea that they had gone off to Mexico three years ago, bound and determined to track down the Desert Wolf, whoever she was. And for another, all he really wants to do right now is to walk away, but he had to go and make that damn promise. But Scott must misread his glance because he just nods, an encouragement to keep going. 

"No," Stiles finally says, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not any kind of game. I want to know everything you know about her. Everything you remember about her." 

"She's crazy. Crazier than her daughter. _That's_ what I remember." 

His hands are tight fists already, and his blood pounds in his temple, a physical reaction towards the anger he feels. This is new, this hatred towards Malia. But then again, they are the reason he's now stuck in here. And Stiles knows that Peter is no fool and that he's doing this to elicit this kind of reaction, but it doesn't stop him from fantasizing about reaching through that glass to strangle him. Or maybe just beat his head against the glass enough times to make up for all the damage he's done. 

"What about before Malia?" he asks instead, trying to act like he's not being driven to homicidal thoughts right now. 

"Before? I didn't know her before. It was one night filled with a series of mistakes - the biggest one being the one I'm assuming is still in your bed if you're here asking questions. Am I correct?" 

He chooses to ignore that question, too. "So that's it? There's nothing you know about her?" 

"Answer my question first. Why do you want to know?" 

Stiles looks to Scott again because they talked about this. In the end, it's his decision, but Scott thinks it's okay to tell Peter why they're really there. Scott believes in the safety and security of having him behind this glass wall. Scott believes in the power of positive thought and hope and probably rainbows and puppies, too. Even after everything they've been through, Scott still believes that good things happen to good people, and bad people get what they deserve. But Stiles doesn't know how to think that way. All he can think about is a world where Peter eventually finds his way out of here, and somewhere, there's a little Stilinski that's become his target. 

But he made this promise, and how can they leave without an answer? 

He holds Scott's gaze for a long time before he finally looks back to Peter. He sighs as he pulls his arms a little more tightly across his chest, like he already senses that he's going to have to defend himself. "Malia's pregnant." 

He expects Peter to have some kind of reaction. Laugh, scream, something. So he stops there, giving him a chance to laugh or scream or something, but Peter only crosses his arms to mirror Stiles's own stance. "Is that all?" he asks after an extended silence, almost seeming bored. 

"She started shifting, and she can't control it. We need to find a way to make it stop. And if the same thing happened to her mom..." 

"I wouldn't know about it," Peter says as he cuts him off, finishing his sentence. "I found out about her the same day her mother came to me with adoption papers. I have no idea what happened before or after she was born." 

"You have to know something." But he doesn't. He's their last resort, but that doesn't mean he has to have any more answers than their very first choice. He's enjoying this, Stiles can see it in his cocky grin and the flash of excitement in his eyes. And Stiles isn't ready to give up. "Something about what's happening or what's going to happen. Or what about where her mother is?" 

"Listen," he says, and there's something about his tone that sends a shiver down Stiles's back. Scott must feel it, too, because he can just catch the way his friend squares his shoulders in his peripheral vision. That voice is enough to make even this glass barricade feel like it's not enough. "You got my daughter pregnant. That's your problem, not mine." 

"She's not your daughter." 

"Stiles -"

"No, Scott. She's not." That one word is enough to make him feel absolutely crazed. Like if that glass wasn't there, he might rip out his throat with his bare hands. Stiles has a long way to go when it comes to settling into this new role he's kind of tripped and stumbled and then fallen into, but he already knows enough to know that there's gotta be something inherently wrong with Peter for him to be able to treat Malia the way he does. Sure, there are a lot of days when Stiles still wonders if it might not be easier to just sweep this problem under the rug, fix this whole shifting thing and then pretend like it never happened. But there are a lot more days when he finds himself curious about that little pup, even though it scares the shit out of him. But Malia? Malia's only ever been a pawn for Peter in his sick, twisted games. "You've never done anything for her. So you don't get to call her that." 

And then he has the nerve to laugh. He laughs as he shakes his head, _really_ enjoying this now. He seems to feed off of their anger, spurred on by Stiles's inability to stand down and the way that Scott growls now, even though he's still definitely in human form. "Fine," he says with a brush of his hand that's meant to say he really doesn't care if she's his daughter or not. "You got me. I'm a horrible person, and I don't deserve her." He rolls his eyes, as if the complete lack of sincerity and flood of sarcasm in his words might not be enough. "If you ask me, it sounds like she's the same crazy whore her mother was. So you have fun with that, Stiles." 

He turns away, heading back to the far corner of his cell, but Stiles's blood is way beyond boiling at this point. He smacks his fist against the glass, too angry to even feel the pain that settles deep in the heel of his hand where it'll stay for a few days. "Don't you _dare_ call her that!"

"Or what, Stiles?" he shouts back over the sound of Stiles's fist connecting with the wall a second time. "You're going to hit my cell again?" 

For a great majority of this exchange, Scott has been completely silent, but he steps forward now while Stiles is trying to think of a threat to match the level of rage he's experiencing right now. Scott's voice is much calmer when he talks, and even that feels like enough to set Stiles off. "You know where she is," Scott says, and Stiles realizes that in his silence, Scott has been paying careful attention to Peter's reactions, ready to sense a lie. He freezes, midway through hit number three, watching his best friend instead. "Where's her mom?" 

Peter sighs as he drops down to the bed in the corner. It's silent for so long, Stiles is getting ready to demand an answer again when the older wolf finally speaks. "If I were you, I would look a little closer to home. She knew you were looking, and she left before you even got there." 

"Then where is she?" Stiles immediately asks, trying to grasp something, anything at all now that Peter didn't have the answers he was supposed to. But Peter only laughs. Stiles pounds his fist against the glass again, feeling it rattle. " _Where is she?_ " It becomes his mantra as his voice rises until he's screaming, and he continuously pounds against the glass, the motion becoming increasingly more frantic. This is what desperation feels like, he thinks somewhere in the back of his mind. Because even though he didn't want to come here, it was always an option, there in the back of his mind as a reminder that there was still the possibility of a solution. And now, that option is gone. 

Security is called, but Stiles doesn't hear it over the sound of his own voice. Nor does he hear the way his best friend has started to yell his name over his own screams until Scott is physically dragging him from the room. "You gotta calm down, Stiles," he says, but once Stiles is silent, he's nearly catatonic. Because he was supposed to do this one thing for her and their pup, and now he's failed them both. 

Scott doesn't let go of him until they're outside, and Stiles immediately collapses onto the steps leading up to Eichen House, his fight having left. His knee bounces nervously again now as he bites his bottom lip hard and fights back the tears he can already feel he's on the verge of crying. "I promised her, Scott," he says as he rests his forehead in his hand. "I promised her I'd fix this. What the hell am I supposed to do now?" 

And Scott who believes in safety and security, Scott who believes in the power of positive thought and hope, Scott who believes good things happen to good people is the portrait of confidence when he speaks. 

"We find her mom."


	3. Third Month

Five weeks after Melissa confirms that he succeeded in ways he never imagined - or intended - when it comes to giving Malia a memorable birthday gift, Malia has gotten herself stuck in a shifting fight seven times. She’s no closer to finding an anchor yet, but at this point, he's pretty sure they've earned a gold medal in beating the shiftiness. She's become a pro at knowing when it's about to happen, and he thinks he's set a world record by now with his timing in Ability to Get Drug into Her Hand. Most of the time, he feels like he's on the verge of a panic attack the moment she's asleep because a cure for her shifting is still on a list with Waldo, Peter Hale's heart, his first pet hamster, and a number of other things that can't be found. But they're managing it for now, with Deaton's occasional help, and he's trying to just focus on that. 

When it's not shifting, her body is changing in other ways, too. It should probably feel weirder to him than it does, but he was there the first time when she was learning about this new human body. So the fact that she doesn't have much of a filter when it comes to said changes now doesn't come as a surprise. Plus, he's far too smart to complain. He hasn't been able to reap the benefits because of the fear of shifting, but he knows that a shopping trip with Lydia was necessary because certain undergarments were no longer fitting so well. And he's not saying he went out of his way to check, but he learned the difference between the letters B and C a long time ago, and there was definitely a C on that tag where there used to be a B. As if he needed anymore motivation to fix this shifting thing, this reason is now sadly high on his list. 

And in the middle of that fifth week, nine weeks since they avoided the safety of the tent, she wakes up nauseous, and it's so incredibly human, he feels like he could cry. 

Of course, she could probably benefit from a good cry, too. At first, she worries that it's a sign she's about to shift again, which would be the first time she's shifted two days in a row (which would really freak him out too, for the record), but then she's too busy getting sick to worry about it anymore. And he wants to be supportive, but he also has this sympathetic gag reflex, so it's best for both of them if he stays on this side of the bathroom door. And honestly, he needs a minute to just bask in the pure normalness of the situation. 

He stopped searching coyotes and their mating habits like he promised Scott he would, but he hasn't kicked his Google habit yet. Actually, his relationship with Google has probably gone to the next level because there's enough he can't be prepared for where the pup is involved. So at this point, he feels like he's well-versed in what's normal and what's not for her and the pup. Nausea falls under that totally normal category, along with the fact that weirdly enough, the pup currently has a tail and webbed feet (Of course, this fun fact was also shared with Scott who was equally as fascinated once Stiles clarified that there isn't a tail just because it's a pup). So he rests a little easier, feeling only slightly guilty for finding relief in the fact that she's just feeling sick and not like she's about to shift. 

She's been gone for a significant amount of time before he knocks gently on the bathroom door. She's quiet on the other side, and he doesn't know whether to be glad that she's no longer physically getting sick or to worry that things have gotten worse. "You okay in there?" he asks just as gently when there's no response to the knock. 

" _No_." 

It's a good thing he's on this side of the door because he wouldn't have been able to stop the smile that immediately makes its way to his mouth. Despite her negative response, he can tell from her tone of voice that he doesn't have to worry - not right now at least. 

"Feel like coming out?" 

" _No_." 

"Okay... Then can I come in?" 

There's a moment of silence, and then he can hear the knob turn on the other side of the door. When she opens it, she looks pale and clammy, and he no longer feels just a little guilty for reveling in the fact that it's morning sickness and not more werecoyote problems she woke up to this morning. "C'mere," he offers, and she immediately folds herself into his arms. Malia is normally the complete opposite of clingy, so this raises a red flag - or six. He presses a kiss to her forehead as he rubs her back, feeling the heat radiating from her skin through the fabric of her shirt. At this point, her human form has gotten used to no longer sporting a fur coat, but she's still not usually this warm. "You okay?" 

He feels the way she nods against the crook of his neck, her hair brushing against his skin in the process. "This sucks," she mumbles against his shoulder, and he can't help but smile again; he knows this really does suck for her, and he feels pretty genuinely awful about it, but she sounds kind of adorable when she's lamenting like this. "I just want to feel normal." 

He's not sure what to tell her because he doesn't know when normal will be back. He seriously would do anything short of putting their pup on the supernatural black market to find a way to stop her from shifting again, and he's pretty sure this nausea will only be temporary, but they're in this for the long haul now. They still have months to go before their pup will make an appearance, and he doesn't know if she'll ever really feel normal again before then. 

"Are you still nauseous?" He asks instead of trying to reassure her that normal is a possibility, pulling back this time so he can read her expression. She looks worn out and exhausted already, even though it hasn't been very long at all since she got up, and she nods slowly, like moving any more than that might be enough to set off that nauseous feeling again. "Maybe you should lay back down." 

He doesn't wait for her to respond before taking her hand and leading her back to his bed. He may not be the one she wants holding back her hair for her, but he has to admit that he excels at the whole cuddling thing, so he lays down beside her, pulling her back into his arms before she can protest. She lays her head down on his chest once she's settled in his embrace, and then she's quiet for a long minute before she talks. "So this is normal?" she asks. "Not pup related?" 

"One hundred percent human. Melissa told you that you might start to feel sick, remember?" She nods with a soft little moan without lifting her head from his chest. "But hey - Maybe this will replace the whole shifting thing?" 

"I hate shifting." 

"I know. Me too." 

"And I hate feeling like this." 

"I know. I'm sorry." 

"And I'm so tired." 

"Really? Even though you're knocked out all the time?" He's teasing her, and she picks up on that, judging from the way she playfully nips at his chest in response. He doesn't have to tell her that he hates when she's drugged up; she can probably smell it on him even now when he's just thinking about it. After four years together, he's learned that he can't get anything past her; he's an open book, complete with scratch-n-sniff patches.

"And my clothes don't fit anymore." 

This one gets his attention. Because if her clothes really don't fit anymore, he would've noticed. There's no way he could not notice. Okay, so maybe he has noticed that she's a little more well endowed now, but there's nothing noticeable beyond that. At least, not that he's picked up on. But now that he's thinking about it, he can't remember the last time he saw her with nothing on, which is a sad commentary on the state of his sex life, considering the fact that they live together. He picks up his head, his brows furrowed together as he looks down at her. "They don't fit?" 

With a huff, she pushes herself up so she's sitting again, motioning towards her chest. "Everything's too tight here." 

"I know," he agrees without hesitation. "It's amazing." He laughs when she makes a face in response. "It’s true. You look amazing." 

There's another little adorable huff before she lifts her shirt, placing her hand just to the right of her belly button so his eyes are automatically drawn there. "Well, this is new too." And she's right. He can just barely recognize it, but there's the smallest hint of a bump just below her hand. He doesn't know how he's missed it until now, but he also can _really_ relate to her nausea now. She moves her palm to his chest, a sign that she can hear his racing heart, and lets her shirt fall back down into place. But his eyes stay glued to her middle. "Still normal?" 

"I think so." He doesn't sound nearly as confident, even to his own ears, this time, but his heart is still racing a little bit. Because there's no denying there's something _there_ now. To be honest, he could probably use another paper bag right about now, but he tries to ignore the panic that is eating him alive. No matter how cool he plays it, though, he can't hide the way his foot starts to bounce. 

"Well, it feels weird," she admits as she lays back down, her ear pressed against his racing heart. His hand comes to rest on her shoulder, but then he can't keep that still either, and his fingers end up dancing against her shoulder. Because all he can see is the start of that swell at her waist, the first real physical sign - aside from the weird shifting problem - that she really is pregnant. "Not bad. Just weird." 

What's weird is that pretty soon, her clothes actually won't fit, and there will be no denying that there's a pup on the way. What's weird is that she's still acting like she's riding out some _really_ nice high while he's just over here fulfilling the role of the basketcase. What's weird is that he's going to end up being someone's _dad_. 

He kind of already is. 

God, he needs a distraction. 

And as anxiety-inducing as their discussion has been, the sound of her voice is nice. So he goes against his better judgement. "Does anything not feel normal? Besides, you know, the shifting thing?" 

At first, she just shrugs her shoulders. "The bleeding didn't feel right." 

Well, so much for a distraction. He very nearly pushes her away from him as he sits up quickly, eyes locked on her. 

"Are you serious?" She starts to explain, and he immediately cuts her off. "No, I mean, you were bleeding? Why didn't you tell me?" 

"You weren't here. And Melissa said it was fine." 

"You told Melissa?" 

"She gave me her number and told me I could call if I needed anything." 

Later, he'll be very grateful to Melissa for thinking to do that, but right now, all he can think about is the fact that something went wrong and he didn't even know. She never said she was scared or upset by it, but he can't stop thinking about her alone, trying to figure out what was happening. And he can't help but think about what would have happened had it been worse than it apparently was. 

"Well, next time, call me too, okay? Call me first." She nods, and he knows enough about her by now to know that she's taking this very seriously. He won't have to worry about being left out a second time. "And you have to tell me if things don't feel right...Or if they do feel right. You know what? Just tell me everything." 

She agrees to this plan, and then she's quiet again as he stays sitting up, back against the headboard of his bed, while she rests with her head against his chest. She's still so freaking calm, and now, he feels like he could really use that paper bag. Because this whole shifting thing is really freaky, but they have Deaton's assurance that right now, it's an annoyance more than anything else. This is the first time he's thought about the possibility of something happening to their pup. 

And it freaks him out a whole hell of a lot more than he thought it would. 

He's silent for another minute or two before he looks back down at her still form, his own knee bouncing beside her. "Can you hear it right now?" She’s still for another minute, and then she nods. 

"Still faster than yours." 

"Good. You tell me if you can't hear that. Or if something doesn't feel right. Like immediately. Seriously." 

He doesn't mean to sound so neurotic. It's just that this is their pup, and right now, he doesn't want to think about it not being there anymore. 

\----

Two weeks after Stiles talked to Peter on her behalf, Malia is back in Hale territory. She's thinks it might be the time that she spent as an animal, but the way she thinks is different from the way Stiles thinks, or Scott or Allison or even Lydia. When something is bothering her, she can just ignore it like it was never there to begin with. Stiles still can't sleep because he can't stop worrying about her shifting or thinking about the pup, but she hasn't thought about Peter in days. 

She understands most emotions now, but there are still some that she can't put a name to sometimes. And it's a nameless emotion that she felt when Scott and Stiles returned from Eichen House to report that Peter wouldn't tell them anything. Actually, at first, Stiles had insisted that Peter didn't know anything, but she had pressed her hand against his chest, right over the place where his heart raced with the sound of his lie, and she kept it there until he finally told her the truth: Peter knew that the threat of Braeden on her mother’s trail was enough to send her mother somewhere else, but he refused to tell them anymore. And the feeling it left her with was something like hurt or betrayal, but not quite either of those. 

So she's choosing not to think about it. 

But she is still determined to find an answer, a cure, a something to keep both of them from going crazy. The shadows under Stiles's eyes can't afford to get any darker, and she can't live with the weight of the guilt that will come with knowing she hurt him if she hurts him. 

So she can't hurt him. 

Derek just seems like the logical person to go to. Besides, Stiles is momentarily distracted by the first writing assignment for the Bulletin he's had in months, and she's tired of being in solitary confinement there in his room. So now she's in Derek’s loft, sitting cross-legged on his couch that still smells like Lydia. She already pointed out the bra strap that was dangling out of his drawer, an eyesore in what is normally his impeccably clean loft, and she doesn't think she's ever seen his face flush like that before now. When he asks her how she is, her hand automatically falls to rest on the place where her middle is starting to swell because it's already become a habit while she tells him that she feels fine - when she’s not shifting. 

"Stiles and Scott went to Peter," she finally says when they've gotten as close to small talk as they ever get. She's never patient enough, not when she still doesn't really understand why some people dance around what they really want to say for hours instead of just saying it. "He wouldn't tell them anything about my mother." 

"That sounds like Peter." With a sigh, he sinks down onto the opposite side of the couch, sitting on the very edge as he rests his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry," he adds after a minute, his gaze on her. The relationship she has with Derek is comfortable now. She knows that Stiles doesn't really understand it, but Derek also doesn't understand what she sees in Stiles. And she only cares that Derek is someone she can talk to about all of this family stuff she still doesn't understand (though she's started to accept that no one really understands the Hales). With her father a near stranger and Peter locked away, her mom long gone and her biological mother a mystery, Derek's the closest thing to family she has, aside from the pack and Stiles and his dad who have helped to fill those gaps in her life. And even though he's a cousin, he's become more of a big brother for her, a confidant of sorts. 

"Do you remember her?" 

He shakes his head in response. "We weren't as close then. Peter had his own thing going on, and I had mine. I might've met her, but the girls kind of all run together." She's never asked Derek much about his past, but she's learned some things from Scott and Stiles. Like she knows about Paige because Stiles told her about Derek's eyes when Malia asked him why her own were blue. And she knows from Scott that there was a time when Derek and Peter were close - even a time when Derek saw Peter as a victim of tragedy, unaware of his villain status. 

"Well, do you know anything?" 

He sighs again, and she sits up a little straighter because she knows that sigh. Once again, Stiles spent way too much time teaching her human emotions for her to not be able to pick up on social cues and signals now. And that was a sign that he knows something, and he's willing to share. 

"Everything I know, I learned from Braeden." And he's willing to share what he does know. She learns that her biological parents were more of a fling than anything else, but Peter had a much easier time accepting that. When her mother told Peter about her existence, he had moved on to another girl whose name Derek couldn't remember, and Peter had no interest in giving up his lifestyle to become a parent. Her mother was furious, but she knew that Peter would be too powerful for her (Hale was something of a household name in the supernatural community at the time), so she turned to the girl he tried to replace her with instead. She left the body for Peter to find, and she had him served with adoption papers. And then she disappeared. 

Derek watches her while he talks, and it makes Malia feel like she should be doing something, but she doesn't know what to do. She understands that he's looking for her to react to what he's saying, but she doesn't know how to react. She has no memory of her mother, no story to prove that her mother is capable of the things Derek's been told or a recollection to argue that her mother wasn't a monster. She also has regrets in her own past that may make her a little more sympathetic, the same way she's so forgiving of the crimes Stiles committed while under the control of the nogitsune. And while she's thinking of Stiles, she has to admit that sometimes, it scares her just how much she loves Stiles. Like maybe she'd be willing to leave a body somewhere, too, if someone tried to hurt him. So she remains contemplative as Derek talks, not reacting much at all. 

When he's done, he just looks to her. He doesn't ask questions like most people do because he knows that it bothers her: it reminds her of the social worker she had to meet with for so long when she first became human again. "Do you know where she is now?" she asks without much hesitation. Derek laughs and shakes his head, and she doesn't really understand the humor in her question, but his laughter fades quickly. 

"I have no idea. My guess is Peter's the only one who knows if anyone knows." He's quiet as he pulls his hands apart and bring them back together in a kind of silent clap, still watching her. She's tempted to ask him why he keeps watching her when he finally asks his own question. "Is this because of the shifting? Is that why you want to find her?" 

"Kind of. I need to stop shifting. But she's my mom, too. I wanted to find her before, but then everyone else gave up." She doesn't know if she's ever said this out loud, but it's something that's bothered her for a while now. It made sense to head back when they did. It was the summer after they graduated, and funds were limited, and Scott and Stiles both had parents who wanted them back in the U.S. sooner rather than later. And even she had to admit that every trail they had followed to Mexico turned cold once they had crossed the border. But when they came home, that was it. There was no new plan to track her down, no new trail to follow, no new lead or clue or hint. Stiles erased his board, Scott stopped mentioning her, and Derek pretended like Braeden had never been there. And she didn't say anything because she wasn't sure how to. Because she had still been under the impression that they all knew something that she didn't because they had all been human - or nearly human - for their entire lives, and she missed out on almost an entire decade. When she eventually realized they didn’t know anymore than she did, though, it made her want to start all over again. 

"And now,” she continues when Derek doesn’t say anything, “if I'm going to be a mom, I want to find her." 

It's the first time she's owned up to this title that she never really asked for but that she's earned all the same. It feels weird, the same way it felt weird to sleep in a bed or wear a dress or sit at a table when she was still settling into this new body. But it also used to feel weird when Stiles would call her his girlfriend, and now she loves it. 

She can't imagine being without that title. 

Derek's quiet for a long time - too long. She starts to feel the same way she does when Stiles starts thinking too fast and only talks in half sentences without ever stopping to finish one. She's better at reading emotions, but she can't read whatever's going on in his head. And she wants to know. 

"I still think you can do this," he finally says. "If you find the anchor, it has to stop." 

She sighs as her head falls back against the back of the couch, looking at the vaulted ceiling instead of at him. "I've tried that. I can't find it." 

"Have you tried _finding_ the anchor or just using your own?" 

She stops for a minute to think it over. "I don't even know how to find an anchor," she admits. "Stiles was just... there. And it worked." 

"What did he do?" 

"He just talked to me." 

"He gave you something to focus on," Derek corrects her. "Give it something to focus on next time." 

She agrees to try it, but she's doubtful. She's given the baby her full attention every time, but it's still always the same. She wants to argue that the coyote inside of her is so new, she doesn't think it has whatever it would need to focus on anything. Instead, she just nods her agreement, choosing not to fight with him. He’s been a wolf a lot longer than her, and he's the only member of their pack to have any experience with natural-born wolves. And Stiles likes to say something about begging and choosing that she can never remember right, but she knows that it means she can't turn away even suggestions that make her doubtful. 

She thinks their conversation is already over when he calls her name to get her attention again. "If you want to talk to Peter, I'll see what I can do." 

There are no words for how much she wants this, so she hugs him instead, very nearly throwing herself into his arms in her excitement. The first few times she did this, she could feel the way that he immediately stiffened, his body tensing rather than relaxing the way Stiles's did when she touched him. But now he must be used to it because he hugs her back instead as he tells her he can't make any promises. But he'll do his best. 

Right now, that's enough for her. 

\-----

Eight weeks after he brought Malia to Melissa to get a definitive answer about her lack of shifting, Stiles is back, and it's too soon. It's _way_ too soon. In fact, he's willing to bet that accompanying anyone to an OB/GYN appointment at any stage in his life would feel too soon. But now, it's definitely too soon. Like years too soon. _Years_. 

This appointment is also one of those grey areas that still appear from time to time, too. Because Stiles has clearly never been a 21 year-old girl, and he knows next to nothing about... well, about any of this medical stuff that makes him feel as squeamish as needles do sometimes. At least, he has the peace of mind that this isn't her first appointment like... this: he knows she had one almost as soon as she was back in human form again, and she had a second, courtesy of Lydia (or at least courtesy of Lydia's help and willingness to accompany her), once Stiles became a more permanent part of her life. But he doesn't know if she understands the necessity of this appointment today, and he doesn't really know how to explain it, so he never even tries. She's good about asking questions when she doesn't understand something, but at the same time, he hopes to God she doesn't ask questions about this because he really doesn't know how to answer them. 

He's just starting to think he might be in the clear when she starts with the questions he was hoping to avoid. He swears, they've been back in this tiny room by themselves for half of his life; by now, the baby should _be_ here based on how long this wait has felt. He's well on his way to wearing a path straight through the linoleum floor when she asks her first question. 

"Why are we even here?" And then, before he can even stop long enough to think about how to answer that, she asks a second one. "Can you stop doing that?" 

He stops mid-path, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck instead because there's just too much going on inside his head right now to stay still. "Sorry." As he goes to answer her first question, he realizes he's about to start pacing again, so he moves to the exam table instead, taking a seat next to her. "We're here for the pup," he answers, moving his hand to quickly rest against the place where he thinks that bump's starting to form, and then pulls it away just as fast (He's still having a hard time accepting the fact that she's changing in ways that don't involve her bra size, so physical contact with that part of her body has been pretty limited.) "Because you're having a baby. We've talked about this." 

She rolls her eyes in response, a reaction that's become more common the more she's learned about being human. "I know that," she says with all of the sing-song attitude he's come to appreciate as her way of establishing her knowledge of this still relatively new life. "But why do we have to come _here_?" 

"Because," he starts, and he's half tempted to leave it just at that. But even when she was newly human, she was too curious to be satisfied with just _because_. "That's just what you do." Without really thinking about it, he starts to move again. At first, he's just bouncing one of his legs, but then as she continues to question him, he's drumming the side of the exam table between his legs with the palms of his hands. 

"Why?" 

He sighs this time. It's not that he doesn't love her curiosity, and it's not that he's bothered by her questions, but he feels awkward talking about this. Everything about this makes him feel awkward - he can’t even look at the walls. And he _really_ doesn't feel like he should be the one explaining all of this to her. 

"Because. This way, we know everything's okay with you and the pup." 

"But I feel fine. And I can still hear the pup." 

"Well, we still have to do this." 

" _Why_?" 

"Because we get to see the pup this way." There are a million better answers than this one, but he doesn't know what to say to her. He doesn't want to scare her, talking about the doctor as a safeguard for a time when she can't sense the pup or hear it's racing heart. And he doesn't want to get too awkward, talking about what's going on with her body and how it'll continue to change. So he keeps it simple. "And this way, you get to know everyone here before the pup's born." 

Her hands reach over, clamping down hard around his wrists. "Sit still." 

For her, he stops the drumming, but his feet continue to swing. He sighs as he looks up at the fluorescent lights overhead. "Easier said, Mal. Easier said." 

She's so silent after that, he starts to wonder if she forgot what they were talking about, or maybe she's just too distracted right now to go back their conversation. He starts to wonder about what's going on in her mind. Starts to _worry_ about what might be keeping her so quiet. But when she speaks, he wishes - he so wishes - she had just kept her mouth closed. 

"Well, I _know_ I'm not having the baby here." 

For the first time since they arrived, he has no problem being still. “H-here? You mean, as in not in this room?” 

“No. Not in the _hospital_.”

He stares at her with wide eyes as she looks at him like she just told him the weather for the following day or the time. This is concerning; no, this is terrifying. This is also a conversation that he has to postpone for now because there's a knock on the door, and then Melissa is poking her head inside, her smile friendly and inviting like they're just there to hang out. 

He also basically owes Melissa this firstborn pup at this point because of the rules she’s still breaking for them. But apparently the freaking self-healing Hales don’t believe in doctors, and they don’t know any other natural-born wolves, so they have no idea just how different their pup is from a normal baby. And on the off chance that their pup is currently sporting claws or fangs or glowing yellow eyes, it’s in their best interest if someone they trust is the only person to see their pup right now. 

She also happens to be the only person either of them feels comfortable with at the moment, so he would have been willing to fight for a way to have her there regardless. 

Yet, even though it's Melissa, he can feel the way his heart starts racing the minute she's inside the room, walking Malia through exactly what'll happen. And Malia must sense it, too, because no more than a minute passes before her hand slides into his, her fingers filling the spaces between his own. He tries to focus on that normal comfort while Melissa explains that today is an easy day, one they should be excited for, but he’s having a hard time feeling excited when Melissa is talking to his girlfriend about how she’s feeling and how she’s sleeping and even how she’s doing with that whole shifting thing while they’re alone for the minute. 

Once again, years. There should still be _years_ before he has to do any of this. 

His excitement is even further out of reach when they’re joined by the doctor. The doctor is one that Melissa recommended, but Melissa failed to mention that he's a guy, and there's something slightly unnerving about that to Stiles. And as soon as she's being asked to lay back against the exam table, Malia's eyes fly to him, filled with fear. "Hey, it's okay," he says softly as he leans down closer, taking one of her hands back into his own. "I'm right here." She gets like this around new people sometimes, and he somehow always forgets. He doesn't think it's a shy thing; he's pretty sure it still stems from that old fear that she'll do or say the wrong thing. But in this situation, he wouldn't fault her for being apprehensive for any reason. 

At least, Melissa's right and it doesn't last long. In fact, if Stiles had blinked, he might've missed the whole thing. He spends a lot - if not all of that time - fixated on that bump that he's been so carefully avoiding. Because for most - if not all - of that time, Malia's gown is flipped back to reveal tanned skin that he's missed and curves he's still not used to. He still has a hard time believing that the pup is there, right there beneath her skin. He has an even harder time believing that he's responsible - or partially responsible - for that pup being there. Because this is the same girl who was his first, who saved his life, who finally let him help her. It's hard to believe that she's now also earned this title, one he's just beginning to be able to think, let alone say. 

At the very end, the doctor presses something to her skin, and the tiny heartbeat she's been able to hear for weeks fills the room. It's different than he expected, fast and strong and steady yet somehow still small. But it doesn't have the same calming effect on him that it has on her; as much as he likes being able to hear it now, it makes his head feel too light and his vision feel too dark around the edges. 

After that, it's just the two of them and Melissa again because she's willing to pull strings and break rules for them, and nothing about their pup has been normal so far. "Let's finally see this baby," she says, and his heart takes off again, rising to the back of his throat. He tries to catch Malia's eye to try to gauge her own feelings, even if he can't sense them the same way she can sense his, but she has her attention devoted to Melissa and then to the screen. It takes awhile (Melissa apologizes more than once because _it's been so long since she's done this_ ), and he starts to think that maybe it's hiding in this mess of gray and black and white, which doesn't seem so threatening after all. 

And then it's there. 

Right in front of him. 

And that's _definitely_ a baby. 

The last time, when he had been convinced she was expecting a whole litter and Melissa had offered to prove that wrong before they even left, it had been some kind of undefined shape that he wouldn't have been able to find again if his life depended on it. But now, Melissa's showing them where the head is and the feet and the arms, but she doesn't really have to because it's all right there, clear as day. There are no fangs or claws or glowing eyes. There's only a baby, a very _real_ baby. And holy _shit_ , he was so not prepared for this. 

And suddenly, he can't breathe. 

One of his hands is still laced with Malia’s, but he presses his free hand to the exam table as he closes his eyes and tries to focus on taking deep breaths. Thinking about anything other than that baby on the screen. But their voices are still both there as Malia asks questions, still talking about a pup that's not really a pup at all. 

"Stiles, you okay?” he hears Melissa ask above the chaos of his own thoughts. He opens his eyes to find that in the time he's been focused on his own rising panic, the image has disappeared from the screen, and now they're both watching him instead. He still can't talk, so he shakes his head instead. "Okay, Malia, why don't you get dressed?" Melissa suggests as she stands up, moving around to where he's standing and pressing a hand against his shoulder."You come with me." 

As soon as they're outside the room, she's forcing him onto a bench and then disappearing again as he gasps for breath. When she returns with paper bag in hand, she only tells him to take deep breaths before sitting down beside him and resting her hand between his shoulder blades again. Melissa was the one with him the very first time, too. He was eight and his dad was working late and in a dementia-related episode coupled with a starless night and a broken porch light, his mom had forgotten about the steps leading down from the deck. He had been the one to call the neighbor who took them to the emergency room, and he had held his mom's hand from the back seat the whole way there. But once they were there, they had stuck him in the waiting room and taken her away, and Melissa had been the one to explain to him that he wasn't really drowning, it was just a panic attack. Three years later, she was the one to hold him and reminded him to take deep breaths when he was crying too hard to remember on the night his mom died. 

And now she's here when he can't find a way to just get it together. Malia can stay calm and smile and even be curious about that tiny little baby, so why is he the one out here like this? 

"What's going on, Stiles?" she asks when he's finally caught his breath and has crumpled the paper bag into a ball. In response, he says the first thing that comes to mind. 

"That's a baby. I mean, it's _really_ a baby." 

She gives him that same soft smile she gave Malia, but she doesn’t laugh at him. "Feels pretty real now, doesn't it?" 

He nods as he takes a deep shuddering breath, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him. "We keep calling it a pup," he admits, not entirely sure why he's choosing to open up now to Melissa. But Melissa's been a part of his life for just as long as Scott has, and now she's dating his dad on top of that. Add the fact that she was the first person to know besides him and Malia, and it doesn't feel so weird to talk to her about it now. "But that? That's definitely not a pup. That's a baby." 

"Well, your dad will be glad to hear about this. He's been a little concerned about the use of the word pup." 

“You can let him know I'm not going to try to put it on a leash." 

"Noted." 

He takes another deep breath, finally starting to feel a little less shaky. He glances back at the closed door, knowing that he should be with Malia right now, but wanting to make sure he's past this state of panic first. "She's just so calm about everything. And then I feel guilty for being like this." 

Melissa shakes her head. "Don't. Everyone feels like this, trust me. She'll have her moment." Stiles is silent because what he really wants to say is that his girlfriend lived for nearly a decade as a coyote, so he thinks she'll probably be okay. After all, isn't this what animals do? How much more natural can you get than a baby? But she doesn't really give him much of a chance to answer before she's asking him another question. "Is this the first panic attack you've had?" He's honest with her and shakes his head. 

"I've had a few." 

"How are you sleeping?" 

"With the shifting thing...? Not very much. I feel like the second I close my eyes, something'll happen." 

Melissa looks concerned as she watches him, and he wonders if she's trying to decide just how crazy he is. Whether or not he could use a second stay in Eichen House. "Want me to give you something?" she asks instead, and he's grateful, even as he shakes his head no. 

"I'm okay. Really. I can handle this." He's handled worse... right? Really, with their track record, a baby should be reason to be as calm and collected as Malia is right now. The problem is it's just so... permanent. 

"Well, you let me know if you change your mind. Because that girl in there is going to need you at some point. You need to make sure you take care of you." 

"Thanks, Melissa," he says as he slowly gets back to his feet, glad to find that he's much more steady than before. He adds something about needing to get back to Malia before he leaves her alone there. He doesn't want the drugs, he knows that, because even though he took them in the past, he doesn't like the dependency. And when he needed them in the past, it was because his mom had died and he had an evil spirit taking residence in his head. 

But this is a baby. He shouldn't feel like this. 

He needs to find a way to shake this feeling. Like five minutes ago. Otherwise, he may really need Eichen House again. 

\-----

Twelve weeks after they conceived their pup, Malia falls in love with it. She's been aware that it was there for a while, for a while longer than even Stiles knows. She didn't want to admit it to herself at the time, but that doesn't mean that she couldn't sense that something was different. That something had changed, that something was _there_ now. And she feels like she's already started to learn about the pup, between being able to hear its quick little heart and the way she can sense its presence, even if it's still far too little for things like emotions or thoughts. But the moment she saw it that afternoon, she fell in love. 

There was a moment of panic when they first found out because it was so unexpected, and also partially because Stiles didn't have a plan for the first time in her memory and she could smell his fear. But then, it just started to feel right. She still doesn't always feel comfortable in this body, but this is something her human body can share with her animal body. And even though she's still learning about this body sometimes, she feels like she knows how to do this. Or like she already knows and understands what her body is doing. But even though she's been very at peace with this twist in their life plan, there's nothing that feels quite like seeing the baby for the first time. There's tiny feet and tiny hands, tiny arms and tiny legs, and it looks like a baby there on the screen and then in the identical images Melissa gives them before they leave.

And she loves it already, plain and simple. 

But of course, she notices Stiles's panic, too. Just like she noticed the previous panic attack when they found out she was pregnant, and the one she only heard from his room while he was downstairs with his dad, as well as the general fear that follows him around. And she notices the way he's shaky and clammy when he returns to the room, the scent of his fear sticking to his skin even as he apologizes, forces a smile, asks her how she's feeling (She's fine - both kinds of fine). And she just doesn't understand why he's always on the verge of losing this fight against his own fears or nerves or whatever this is. And how can she help to make it better if she doesn't understand? 

It's late that night before she brings it up again. She's spent the afternoon completely entranced by those images they left the hospital with, and Stiles has barely said anything - related to the pup or otherwise. His dad is working, so there are no awkward conversations about their afternoon, but that also means it's only the two of them all afternoon, and Stiles has suddenly taken a real interest in the paper he has due three weeks from now. So she mostly keeps to herself. She works on some of her own homework, reads part of the book that Lydia gave her, sends the picture of the baby to Allison and Lydia both. By the time she can't stand not talking about what happened anymore, it's late enough that she's pulled on one of his t-shirts and slid into bed while he's sprawled out with his laptop beside her. 

She still has those same pictures in hand, and she steals glances at him every time she flips to the next picture. Eventually, she puts the pictures down and focuses entirely on watching him. When his gaze never leaves his computer, she gets tired of waiting and finally talks. 

"I'm sorry." 

She succeeds in catching his attention this time. He immediately closes his laptop, looking over at her as his brows furrow together. "What are you sorry about?" 

"I don't know," she admits as she flips onto her side so it's easier to watch him. "Everything," and then, when he's still silent, "The pup." 

"Hey," he says as he turns towards her to give her his full attention. "We talked about this, remember? You have nothing to be sorry for. This isn't anybody's fault. It just happened." 

"Well, you make me feel like I have something to be sorry for." Being apologetic was one of the emotions that he didn't have to give her a name for; she remembered it every time she saw her father's face when she lived with him for that short, short time once she was back in this body. And she feels like she owes Stiles an apology now every time she walks in the room and catches the scent of his fear. They've talked about his anxiety before, how it's something that's just always been there and some days are better than others, how right now he can manage it on his own. But now it's always there, always on him, and it makes her feel like she did something wrong. 

He also never had to teach her about guilt, even though he claims to be just as much of an expert on that. He smells like that now, too. 

"You're not okay," she says when he's only watching her, not saying anything. 

"Malia, I'm fine." 

"No, you're not. You're lying!" If she was closer to him, she'd press her hand against his chest, the subtle way she's let him know she hears when he’s lying for the past four years. Instead, there are suddenly tears in the corners of her eyes, the product of her frustration. Because this situation that seemed so natural and normal to her is now one she doesn't understand. And if there's something she's missing - something he's not telling her - it's not fair. And she's starting to feel a little scared, too. "I don't understand any of this, and it doesn't help when you don't tell the truth." 

"Okay, okay. C'mere." She hates crying, especially in front of him. She hates the way her tears leave her cheeks sticky and salty, the way it makes her feel exposed and vulnerable, the way he looks at her like maybe in that weakest moment, he can sense her pain like she can sometimes sense his. But she's frustrated with her inability to comprehend whatever she does to make him so anxious, and she's frustrated that he hasn't told her. And she doesn't know where these tears came from, but the tiniest sob slips past her lips when she lets him pull her into his arms. At least she doesn't have to watch his reaction when her chin is resting on his shoulder and he's rubbing her back. "What don't you understand?" he asks, and she can feel the vibration of his voice against her own chest. 

"I don't know," she says at first because she's not even sure where to start. "I thought the pup was a good thing." 

He pulls back quickly, forcing her to lift her chin from his shoulder, but he settles his hand there in its place, keeping her face even with his own. "Hey, it is. It is a good thing." This time, his heartbeat stays steady, and she feels a little better. "I mean, it'd be a better thing if we were older and done with school and married and we _decided_ to have a pup. But this is good too." 

She still wants to talk about his panic attacks, but she's distracted by that one word he stuck in there: _married_. She knows what it means; she knows that when she was a little girl, she used to dream about getting married someday. But it’s not something Stiles has ever talked about. Everyone else, however, has been talking about it. She overheard Scott asking Stiles, and Lydia and Allison both brought it up to her. And now, she's curious. 

"Are we going to get married now?" 

His eyes are wide as he shakes his head. " _ **No**_ ," he says with so much conviction, she wonders how many people have brought this up to him. But then she senses the way his nerves take over, and she watches him swallow hard before he talks again. "I mean, not right now. Someday, just not right now." He's quiet for a minute as he just watches her, and then he swallows hard a second time before opening his mouth again. "Do you want to get married?" 

She shakes her head too. "Lydia said it would be archaic." 

"She _said_ that?" 

"She said, 'Don't marry Stiles. It's so archaic.'" 

"Well, don't listen to Lydia... even if she is kind of right. We don't have to get married, okay? We'll get married someday when we're ready. I don't want to marry you now because you're pregnant." 

"Good. I don't want to marry you either. Not now," she corrects herself after a second. She's started to calm down, her tears mostly dried now, and she wipes at what's left of the tears on her cheeks. "So if the pup's a good thing, why are you so anxious?" 

"I'm not. I - " 

" _Don't_ lie," She warns. "You smell like nerves and fear all the time. And that was a panic attack today, wasn't it?"

He's quiet for a while. Then with sigh, he lets himself fall back against the headboard, then pulls her back against his side. "Yeah, it was," he admits as he finds her hand, lacing their fingers together. He plays with her hand for a while, moving his fingers closer and then farther away from her own, and she just lets him. He may be stubborn, but she has learned that she is far more patient, and she would be willing to sit here all night if she had to. Luckily, he doesn't make her wait quite that long. 

"I'm just scared," he finally says. "It's _a lot_ of responsibility. And it's a huge change, and I'm not great with change." 

"Neither am I." 

"I know." He gives her a small smile she doesn't quite understand before he presses his lips gently against her own in a quick kiss. "I just - I don't know how to do any of this. And I don't know anything about raising a pup. Plus, I worry about you with the shifting and the feeling sick, and I worry about the pup too. So I've been a little anxious." 

"Well, now I'm worried about you." 

"Don't be. Seriously." 

She ignores him as she moves to straddle his lap, out of habit. Even after four years, sometimes she feels like she's listened to only when she's as close as possible to him. Sometimes with Stiles, it's actually true. But she craves this physical closeness, finding it far more soothing than his words. "And I'm worried about me. Why am I not anxious too?" 

This time, he laughs a little bit. "Because you're incredible, Malia," he tells her as he moves his hand to her cheek. "I _want_ to be like you about all of this." 

"Really?" 

"God, yeah. You're just such a natural -- like you're already a pro at this. And I'm working on it, I promise." 

"So you're not upset with me?" 

"Never," he says before he leans in to kiss her again, and she wishes not for the first time that they both weren't so wary of the threat of shifting. Because she would really like to just show him how much she appreciates his honesty. When he pulls back, his gaze falls on the sonogram pictures that she left discarded on the bed before they started this conversation. He picks one up, studying it the same way she has for hours. "It's pretty cute." 

She wrinkles her nose this time as she looks at it, thinking it mostly looks like a baby. It's hard to tell anything else for now. "It's tiny." 

"That's good. That means we have time for me to learn how to be more like you." He kisses her one last time before he pats her backside, an unspoken signal that leads to her sliding off of his lap. The board in his room is once again occupied by hints and clues related to her mother's whereabouts, but the right side remains relatively blank for the time being. And it's at the very top of that right section that he puts the picture, making it a permanent part of his life. 

Already, she feels a little less worried about him. She knows him well enough to know that he'll be okay, too. 

\----- 

Three weeks after they stupidly chose to give Peter one last chance, Stiles finds himself on another mission with Scott. This one, however, involves one very unsupernatural bar cart that wouldn't fit in Lydia's car after she and Allison picked it out the last time they were in Beacon Hills (it just barely fits in the back of the Jeep). And even though Alpha Scott could probably carry it up the seven flights of stairs to their apartment with one hand, it would look suspicious, so Stiles volunteers to pretend to help him. He kind of just assumes Malia will go with them, too, because there's not much they don't do together anymore. They'll meet up with the girls, they'll spend the weekend acting their age for once, and they'll take a break from thinking about anything else. It really is a foolproof plan - until Malia wakes up too nauseous to spend the next two and a half hours in the car. 

So now, he's looking at a solid 24 hours away from her, and he's kind of a nervous wreck. He really has been working on calming this obnoxious side of his personality. He's given himself the next couple weeks, and then he'll let Melissa medicate him because he can't keep doing this to Malia. And prior to today, he really does feel like he's made progress. There have been no more panic attacks in the near week it's been since her appointment. He may not be sleeping through the night, but at least he's sleeping more, waking up less, and managing to fall back asleep - after he's checked on her. And when his dad sticks another one of the sonogram images on the fridge, it doesn't really bother him to see it there. He kind of likes it, actually. But today, he's kind of a nervous wreck, and he feels like he's earned that right. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, his foot that isn't against the gas bounces, and when his phone vibrates against the cup holder it's sitting in, he nearly jumps out of his skin. 

"Is that Malia?" he asks, eyeing the phone before eyeing Scott. His best friend picks up the phone without further invitation. 

"No, it's Derek." Scott also doesn't ask for permission before opening the text. "He says he thinks Malia's asleep. And he says you need to stop or he's blocking your number." Derek is the one Malia's spending the day with now. He knows she wasn't happy with him when he was forcing her out of his bed and into something other than his t-shirt when she had a serious case of dry heaves (which meant he also had a serious case of dry heaves), but if he's going to be gone overnight, he wants her with someone who will know what to do if she starts shifting. At least, until she stops with the shifting. "Dude, how many texts did you send?" 

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles can see the way Scott is scrolling back up through the twenty or so texts he sent before Derek responded once, so he chooses to ignore that questions."What is that supposed to mean?" Stiles asks instead, giving Scott the incredulous stare he wishes he could give Derek in that moment."What does he mean he _thinks_? She's either asleep or she's not. Ask him if she's asleep or not." 

Scott does as he's asked, and two minutes later, his phone is vibrating again. "He says she went to lay down and he hasn't seen her since." 

"Has he checked on her? Is she breathing?" He can feel Scott's eyes on him still, and he can see in his peripheral vision that his best friend is not sending another text message. He sighs as he pulls his eyes away from the road to look at him instead. "Ask him that." 

"Ask him what?" 

"If she's _breathing_." 

"Dude... Are you serious?" 

"Scott, just send the text." 

Another two minutes, and his phone buzzes again. Scott reads the text message this time but doesn't say a word before sets it back down. "What'd he say?" Stiles asks, his eyes darting over towards Scott every chance he has to look away from the road. But Scott is still silent, not meeting his gaze this time. "What'd the text say?" 

"He says no," Scott finally admits with a sigh. 

Stiles's jaw is set in a hard line as his fingers stop drumming long enough to hit the steering wheel with his open palm. "Tell him the sarcasm isn't a good look for him." 

Before Scott can type anything, the phone vibrates again. "She's still breathing. And Derek's turning off his phone. He'll let you know if she... if she stops." Scott's watching him now after discarding his phone in the drink holder, the same way his dad watches him and Melissa watches him and now Malia, too. A few nights ago, she started doing the shifting thing again, and while she waited for the sedative to kick in, she was trying to comfort _him_. And that's how he knows this has gone too far. "Man, are you like this all the time now?" 

Stiles sighs as his fingers start to drum a little faster against the steering wheel. He glances at Scott, then back at the road. "I'm trying not to be. It's been better lately, but it feels like she's a little overdue for a shift right now. And she's with Derek." 

"You know, you really didn't have to come with me." 

"I know, but Malia wanted me to, and I can't say no to her right now." He steals another glance at Scott, trying to read his expression. Malia is constantly telling him how he feels, but Scott rarely does it. He wonders if his best friend is feeling weighed down by his guilt right now too in this cramped space. If he is, he doesn't show it. "I already screwed up there." 

"Screwed up?" 

"Yeah. I kind of had a panic attack when she was at the doctor’s." He keeps his eyes on the road this time. Scott knows all about his history with anxiety, but it's still something that's hard to talk about even with Scott. Especially now, when he's supposed to be an adult - or at least, a little more like an adult - and the source of his anxiety is only a baby. "She says I always smell like fear now, too." 

"You do. It's gross." 

"Thanks, man. I love you too." His phone vibrates again, and Scott picks it up this time without him having to say anything. 

"It's Malia. She's reminding you you're not supposed to be worrying like this." 

Stiles raises an eyebrow in a _See what I mean_? kind of gesture. "Can you just ask her how she's feeling?" Scott gives a quick nod before texting again. At this point, Scott knows as much about the nausea as he does about the shifting; Scott knows everything there is to know about the pup because Stiles really does lack any kind of filter with his best friend. So Scott knows that isn't _quite_ an example of his anxiety when he just wants to know if she's feeling better. 

Scott finishes sending the text and then sets the phone back down again. He sighs in a way that's much more relaxed than Stiles's own frustrated ones as he leans back against his seat. "My mom told me about the panic attack." It's on the tip of his tongue to make a comment about lawsuits and doctor-patient confidentiality, but Melissa has kind of been a lifesaver these past couple months, so he thinks better of it. "She asked me if I knew how you were doing, and I realized that I know a lot more about Malia than I do about you."

"That's because it's happening to her." 

"No, man. It's happening to you too. So what's going on?" 

Stiles sighs again. His hand that was drumming is now still against the wheel, but he's biting the cuticle of his left thumb instead. It's been easier to talk to Scott about what's going on with Malia because so much of it has been physical. He can tell Scott about the shifting and know that his fear is implied and then shared by Scott when the alpha himself is just as clueless. He can talk about the way her morning sickness has a tendency to start in the morning but really lasts all day and know that his worry will be understood without him having to explain it. And he can talk about the way her body's starting to change or the way the pup's starting to grow and hope that being a guy, Scott will assume that it makes him a little anxious or uncomfortable or something. But if he talks about himself, he has to talk about panic attacks and sleepless nights and how a tiny little pup has made him eligible for an all-expenses paid trip to Eichen House. 

"I'm fine," he says without looking over at Scott. He adds a shrug of his shoulders, as if to say its no big deal. Sometimes, this is how he talks himself down from that cliff known as the reality he's still too weak to handle. If he isolates those physical symptoms, it really is just happening to her and not him. 

"You're lying. You’re not fine." 

"Oh my _god_! You two seriously need to stop doing that. People lie sometimes. It's normal. Especially when they say they're fine." 

"C'mon, Stiles. Be honest. How are you doing?" 

"I don't know," he finally says, his eyes still glued to the road in front of him. "I try to relax, I try to be calm like she is, but it's not working." His fingers start going again as he talks, moving faster the longer he talks. "And she keeps telling me to stop worrying, but you can't tell me this shifting thing is good for her. And it's not going away." 

"It's still just as bad?" 

"It's worse. And Peter's just an asshole, and all Derek keeps telling her to do is to find an anchor, but she can't. Trust me, she's tried everything." Just once, he let her convince him to wait on stopping the shifting. For nearly an hour, she tried everything she could think of in vain. She was completely drained by the time she eventually gave in and let him help her, and they were no closer to stopping the shifting.

"Okay, so what else?" 

"Well, we stopped having sex because she worried it might be a trigger, too." 

"No, I mean, what else is going on with you." Finally, Stiles looks away from the road long enough to see that Scott's eyes are wide and very much focused on him. "Seriously, though? Since she started shifting?" 

"It's so much of a drought, it's become a desert," Stiles confirms. "It's some sick and twisted kind of karma." 

"You're not kidding." 

Stiles laughs despite himself, shaking his head. Really, it'd be nice - so nice - to have the distraction, and he misses that more animalistic side of her personality that usually leads to him being pinned to the mattress while she purrs in his ear, but at the same time, going without her has been the least of his worries. "I'm freaking out, Scott," he finally admits, sobering quickly. "I still haven't figured out how to take care of myself - I _can't_ take care of myself, just ask my dad. And now, there's gonna be a baby. It already _looks_ like a baby. And you know what I know even less about than I know about babies? Werecoyote babies. This pup's gonna be able to shift just like Malia, and I couldn't be more human if I tried." 

"Come on, Stiles," Scott says when he finally comes up for air. "You probably know more about this whole wolf thing than any of us. You were the one who helped me figure it out." 

"Yeah, but this is different," he says, his voice a little calmer and a little quieter now. "This is _my_ pup. What if I screw that up too?"

"You won't." 

There's a lot of conviction in Scott's voice, and Stiles has no idea where it comes from. He feels like he should be filling his best friend in on the first two panic attacks or the sleepless nights or the way he reduced Malia to tears with his inability to calm down and handle this like an adult. He feels like maybe Scott should know about the cold sweat he breaks out in every time Malia undresses because now she's obviously pregnant when there are no layers to cover it up before he goes and makes any declarations. Or maybe he just needs to see the way Stiles's foot is still bouncing against the floor of the Jeep. 

"Yeah? How do you know that?" 

And Scott laughs this time. He _laughs_ like it should be obvious. If it wouldn't cause him more pain than it would Scott, Stiles might actually punch him right now. But then, he wouldn't be able to hear his best friend's response anyway. "Because you already care this much. Stiles, you have the biggest heart out of any of us. If anyone's gonna do this right, it's you." 

He doesn't know if that's true or not, but he likes to think that he takes good care of his dad and Malia, of Scott and Allison, of Lydia when she'll let him. He likes to think that he knows what to do when it's any of them, but this baby is brand new territory. But there was also the way he felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack when Malia told him about the tiny scare she had had without his knowledge. He knows that even if this baby scares him more than any supernatural creature they've been up against, it feels pretty permanent already. 

Like it's been there much longer than these seven weeks they've known about it. 

Before he can say anything, his phone vibrates again, catching both of their attention. Scott picks it up for him again; this time, he makes a face. "You're reading your own texts from now on, dude." 

"Malia?"he asks, his brows together in a look of concern. 

Scott nods. "She's letting you know she got sick." 

"Hey, that's great," Stiles says without thinking, feeling slightly better having left her behind. She's been good about keeping to her promise of telling him everything that's happening with her. There are still a slew of things he'd rather not know about, but this one falls into pretty safe territory. "Tell her I'm glad." Scott doesn't start typing this time; instead, he keeps looking at him like he's crazy, kind of like Stiles expected him to look back when he was still baring his soul. He brings his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it nervously as he tries to explain. "It's the only way she feels better. Otherwise, she's just nauseous all day."

Scott scoffs this time, shooting him a look that seems to say that he realizes Stiles is way into this thing now, like in the trenches along with Malia while they try to figure this out. And he guesses he kind of is. 

And so far, they're surviving, which is good enough for him. 

 

\---- 

One week after her last visit, Malia finds herself back at Derek's. The difference is this time, it's not by choice. For a short time after she went back to being a girl, there was a social worker who would come to the house every day to work with her on one of a multitude of skills she had missed out on while she was learning to fend for herself in the woods. It was the social worker who had stressed to her father the importance that Malia never be left on her own, so he had saddled her with a babysitter. Literally, a babysitter. Every time he left the house (which was a majority of the time because he seemed to hate that house even more than she did), the neighbor from down the street who had watched her when she really did need a sitter would come over and treat her like she was still the nine year-old she had been when she last lived in that house. Of course, she didn't really help her case when she'd throw fits or fight her father on it, but she felt ridiculous enough in that new body without throwing a babysitter into the mix. When she resorted to growling at the sitter, she finally got her way, and her father didn't bother to call now. 

Now, she lives with Stiles instead, but when she wakes up feeling sick, and then sicker still when she thinks about sitting in the Jeep for half the afternoon, he decides she must need a sitter, too. It should be bad enough that she doesn't get to go with him and Scott to spend the weekend with Allison and Lydia, but then he's forcing her out of bed and calling Derek, even as she insists she's fine on her own. But he counters with the fact that she hasn't shifted in a few days. So she argues that his father is there so she won't actually be alone, but he doesn't think that's a good idea. Next, she argues that Melissa is there, too, because she can hear her voice, and Stiles is caught off guard for a moment, but then he insists that Derek is the best person in case of a shift. And she relents because part of her knows that he's right - but she still makes it clear that she's just sick, not shifty. 

And for most of that day, she is sick. Derek lends her his bed, and she tries to sleep it off, which isn't hard because no matter how much sleep she gets lately, she's still tired. When she does eventually wake up, she's disoriented and her head is pounding, but once she's physically sick, she feels okay enough to go to Derek and tell him that she's made up her mind: she wants to talk to Peter. She hasn't talked to Stiles about it, mostly because she hasn't had a chance between the shifting and the panic attacks and the normal routines they had before a pup was ever a part of the equation, but also because she knows him well enough to know that he would think this was a bad idea. But she has to try - for herself and for their pup. 

Unlike Stiles, it doesn't take much to convince Derek. In fact, he only asks her if she's sure once before admitting that he agreed to take her, and he will if it's really what she wants. And she is absolutely certain. 

Which is how she finds herself walking the halls of Eichen House early the next morning, Derek by her side. It's weird for her to be back; she doesn't like the way it makes her skin crawl or the way it makes her feel the way Stiles smells most of the time. The memories she has of this place that include Stiles are good, but she mostly remembers being miserable here. After all, her father stuck her here when he didn't know what else to do, and she had been fixated on finding a way to go back to the way she had once been while she was a patient here. It's nice to know she gets to choose when she goes home this time. 

They have no problem making it to the closed ward once it's confirmed that they are indeed family, but Derek stops her with a firm hold on her wrist right outside the door. "You don't have to do this," he reminds her, giving her one last chance to change her mind. 

"I know," she tells him as she pulls her arm away. "But I want to." She feels that clawing sense of guilt when he opens the door, and somewhere deep down inside, she knows that she should have told Stiles before doing this. After all, they have the no secrets rule for a reason, and this is starting to feel an awful lot like a secret. Remembering the way that he texted her continuously the night before and called her before she fell asleep and again after she was awake this morning isn't helping that feeling to go away. But this is for their pup, she reminds herself as walks in before she can change her mind. Even Stiles has to understand that. 

A few times after she started fights with other patients, she ended up in the closed unit, too, so she's not surprised to see the glass divider or the tiny twin bed, but it's still unsettling to see Peter there. When she discovered that he was her biological father, she had been more settled in this life with this body, thanks to Stiles, but she was still struggling with this new identity that didn't always feel quite right. She had been desperate to find someone else like her, and she had hoped that person might be her father. It had been a long ride home from La Iglesia after he had proven that she was only a way to get closer to Scott, and Stiles had apologized profusely the whole way, even though she kept telling him it wasn't his fault that Peter wasn't a good guy. She had felt betrayed, but she had moved on, with Stiles's help again. 

Being back here face-to-face with him is weird to say the very least. 

"What do we have here?" she hears him say, and it's only then that she sees where he is on the edge of the twin bed, standing up now to approach the glass that thankfully separates them. "Ah, my favorite nephew," he says with a nod towards Derek, "And the mother-to-be herself. How are you doing, sweetheart?" 

Her expression is one of confusion as she looks back at him, and her hand falls to rest protectively over the place where the pup is. "Don't call me that," she tells him. She knows from the number of movies she's watched with Stiles that this is what you would call a pet name (not to be confused with the name you give a pet), but it makes her skin crawl when he says it. He opens his mouth to talk again, but she jumps in before he has a chance. “I want to know about my mother." 

"Oh, Malia," he sighs, and there's something about hearing him say her name that makes her skin crawl, too. "Did Stiles not tell you? I already told him that I don't know a thing." 

"You're lying." 

His lips form a smirk at her accusation. He places his hand over his chest, nearly mirroring her stance on the other side of the glass. "How could I be? My heartbeat stayed exactly the same." 

"Because you're a really good liar." She knows this is true from the stories she's been told and the brief time she did spend with him before she realized that Stiles had been right along, even though it wasn't right for him to withhold information from her. But she's learned a lot more about interacting with other people since then, too, and she's better about not trusting everything she hears now. And she knows from every other member of the pack that Peter is not to be trusted, no matter how close they are genetically. "Stiles said you know she's not in Mexico anymore." 

It's the only place the pack knew to look because they had nothing more than the information Braeden had. There was no scent to follow or hunch to investigate; Stiles's board had actually been pretty bare then just because there were no leads for them to try to follow. Their only real link was Braeden and her history with the Desert Wolf, and now they don't even have that. There's absolutely no place to start, and she knows she's not the only one to realize this; she overheard Stiles on the phone with Scott before they left for the weekend, sounding a little more than anxious as he told his best friend that finding her mom was starting to feel like a lost cause. 

But she's not willing to give up. 

Peter sighs, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches her. She gets the sense that he's waiting for her to give up, but she's far too determined to solve this problem, both for herself and the pup. "Why don't you have this conversation with your boyfriend then?" 

"Because I know that's the only thing you told him. He doesn't lie - At least not well." 

Behind her, Derek sighs, and she realizes then that a part of her had forgotten he was still even there with her. His stance is nearly identical to Peter's when he comes to stand beside her, arms crossed over his chest, but Malia is also distracted by just how different the two men seem. Derek has become a confidant of sorts for her, the one she goes to when she does have questions about who she is and where she came from. In fact, he's always there when the pack needs him. And now, they have this connection because they both belong to what remains of the once-powerful Hale family, and there's literally no one else. So it makes sense that they would band together against Peter when he's only ever wronged them both. 

"Look," Derek says, immediately gaining both of their attention. "You're the only person who ever met her. You're the only person who knows where she is now. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't necessary." 

"Necessary for _what_?" he asks the same way Derek once asked her what it was she saw in Stiles. Like he doesn't believe there's any reason there at all. Like they really are there just for fun. 

"For me," she says before Derek has the chance to talk again. "I want to know who she is." 

"Trust me, you don't." 

"Well, I want to decide for myself." She stands up just a little taller as she says it, her hand still resting protectively over the beginnings of a bump. Peter has never scared her as much as he probably should. The last fight he was involved with, the one that landed him here, was the first time she ever feared him, and even that was fleeting. Because he had been no match for Scott in the end. Still, she's heard stories from Scott and Stiles about when Peter was still an alpha, the very alpha who bit Scott, and part of her knows that she should probably be a little more wary. But she puts a lot of trust in that glass barrier that exists between them. "I get to decide for myself." 

Peter's silent then, watching her in a way that makes her feel even more protective of the pup, if that's even possible. This is new - this instinctive need to keep it safe. But there's something about the look in his eyes and that half smile that he wears now, something that makes her feel like if she still had fur, it'd be standing on end. 

"Oh, Malia," He finally says, and his voice is sweet, too sweet. "You stupid, stupid girl. What part of 'I don't know anything' is it that you still don't understand?" In response, she starts to growl, but Derek's hand is suddenly on her elbow, and his touch is so sudden and unexpected that she stops, looking up at him instead. 

"So you really don't know anything?" He asks, his jaw set in a firm line that even she feels a little unsure of. Peter's eyes, however, stay on her. 

"I haven't seen her since she told me about you. And I haven't heard from her since the January she gave you up." 

His heart stays steady the entire time he talks, but that can't be right. She knows there's a lie there because that doesn't make sense. She doesn't know much about her mother; really, she doesn't remember all that much about her life before the accident period. But she knows that her birthday isn't in January, and she knows that she was with the Tates when she was a baby. This has to be another one of Peter's many lies. He probably doesn't even remember when she came; he probably doesn't even remember who she is. 

"But that's not possible," she argues. "My birthday's in November. It must've been in November." 

Peter scoffs at her argument, rolls his eyes. "It was New Year's Day. It was how I started my year, signing you off. It was a fantastic way to start the year. It would've been nice to keep it that way." 

Derek's hand starts to guide her away after that last comment, but she doesn't care. She stopped caring about Peter after the last time he disappointed her. But she feels like this is somehow important, knowing now that there was a time between when she was born and when she was given up. She doesn't know what it is, but she has a feeling if anyone can figure it out, it's Stiles. 

\---- 

Six weeks after Malia starts fighting against the shifting, Stiles wakes up to one of his worst fears. 

It's a long 24 hours away from her, even with the constant texts and the few phone calls he makes to check in. Allison and Lydia's neighbors are too loud, Lydia gets too tipsy, and he trips while trying to check his phone and pretend to help carry the cart up the stairs, and now he's pretty sure that his ankle is sprained. Or just really twisted. He feels like a buzzkill the whole night, which he probably is, right down to the way he cockblocks his best friend pretty effectively when Allison asks how Malia's doing and he spares her none of the nitty gritty details. His pup will probably be in college before Scott gets some again, but once he's there, he can't remember the last time he was without her for this long. She's just become this permanent part of his life, and he misses her. A lot. 

Needless to say, he's glad to be leaving the next afternoon. Sure, he's grateful for the heart-to-heart he had with Lydia before she started drinking, both of them able to relate to the difficulties of dating a Hale now, and he's glad to hear that Allison is planning to come home to take Malia shopping again soon, but he mostly just wants to get home to her. And when he eventually does, he's so glad to see her much less sick than she was the morning before, she has to stop him when one hand is already under her shirt and remind him of their promise to abstain until she has this shifting thing under control. He's never hated a promise more. 

Still, there's a comfort that comes from being back home with her, and there's an even greater comfort that comes from falling asleep beside her that night. In fact, he slept so poorly on the girls' couch the night before and she's so warm and familiar against him in his own bed, he falls asleep almost immediately, into the deepest sleep he's had in weeks. 

So, of course, it would happen then. 

He doesn't know if he's aware of her words or her whimper first because in his memory they happen at the same time, but she makes some kind of noise that jolts him awake in the middle of the night. And then, it is most definitely her voice that he's hearing. 

" _Stiles_." She sounds scared when she says it, and her voice is strained in a way that he recognizes. His eyes fly open, and he can just make her out beside him in the glow of the streetlight that comes through his window. She's on all fours, one hand resting against her middle while the other - visibly clawed - holds a fistful of the fitted sheet beneath them. It's something he's noticed about these sudden shifts, the way she almost always ends up on all fours. It makes him feel like she's two seconds away from a full shift back to coyote form, and it really freaks him out. Because who can really say she'd have the ability to get back? But much more concerning right now is the fact that it's the middle of the night and they are _so_ far from prepared this time. 

He sits up quickly, rubbing sleep from his eyes because even though his mind is working at super speed, his body isn't quite there yet. "I'm up, I'm up."

He knew - he _knew_ \- it had been too long since this happened. 

He’s about to get up when he hears her voice again, softer and gentler, yet still strained. He can’t make out what she’s saying, though, so he moves closer despite the fact that she’s visibly shaking with the effort to remain human. “What?” he asks, but her mouth is still moving, almost like she hasn’t hear him at all. 

“It’s okay,” he finally makes out as she closes her eyes. “It’s okay.” 

“I know. I’ll be right back." The bottle is right there on his desk, and he’s already kicking himself for not having it on his nightstand. Or having a portion of that bottle on every surface in his room. Or finding a way to carry it with him at all times. But as he's swinging his legs over the side of the bed, her hand comes down hard around his wrist, stopping him immediately. Her claws are still very much there, digging into the top of his hand, and he immediately swings back around to face her, sure he'll be met with with a snarl or a growl or maybe even her in full-on coyote mode. But she seems like she's more in control now, shaking a little less. "Hey, I promise. I'll be right back, okay?" 

But he's not going anywhere, not if she has any say, apparently. He's pretty sure her nails dig farther into the skin of his hand. Out of instinct, he tries to pull his hand away, and her grip grows a little tighter. If he wasn't awake before, he's definitely awake now. "What the hell, Malia?" 

It's like she's in a trance, though. In fact, he can see that her eyes are closed now, her face serene despite the fact that her shoulders are starting to shake again, her nails digging farther in response. "It's okay," he hears her say again. "Everything's okay." 

"I _know_ ," he insists again with a little more force this time. "Just let me help." 

And then her palm is over his mouth, effectively ending his sentence before he can finish that thought. His wrist stings now that her claws are no longer there, but that feeling is almost outweighed by the feeling of her claws digging into his cheeks now. He really has no idea what she's doing , eyes wide and brow furrowed in confusion as he watches her. Her hand is still against her abdomen, her eyes still closed, and every so often, the shaking becomes so controlled that he thinks she may be rocking. But she's never done this before, and he's not sure what it means. He can actually feel that fist of panic forming in his chest because this doesn't just feel like shifting. And then she speaks again. 

"It's okay. Everything's okay. I'm right here." 

There's something about the way she says that last part, some lilt to her tone that makes him understand that she's not talking to him. 

She's talking to the pup. 

His features relax as he watches her instead. They've been trying to find an anchor for _weeks_. She's tried listening to him and kissing him and letting him hold her up until that night when she almost clawed off his face. She's tried ignoring him altogether. She's tried listening to Scotts voice, listening to the radio, listening to nothing at all. And so far, they've been no closer to stopping this shifting without the help of a drug. The last time Stiles went to Deaton to have him refill that little bottle, he had wanted so badly to ask how many of those sedatives she could take before they had to start worrying about the pup, but he was too afraid to hear the answer in the end. At this point, they're both very aware of the fact that they need to find an anchor for the baby. 

Like now. Now would be a _really_ good time. 

He's afraid to jinx her, but it seems like she's not shaking anymore, even though she occasionally holds herself rigid and her voice catches on something that sounds like a cross between a whimper and a growl. Those three little phrases have become her mantra, too, as she repeats them over and over again. _It's okay. Everything's okay. I'm right here_. And even he finds something about her voice incredibly soothing, like he could put his head back down and fall asleep without a problem. Gently, he pulls her hand away from his mouth. Now that he understands what it is that she's doing - or _trying_ to do - he fully intends to stay quiet. 

He trusts her enough to lay back down, holding himself up on his elbow as he watches her. He can be across the room in two seconds if he needs to; that's what he tells himself to make himself feel better as he stays put like she wanted. Because a part of him still feels like he should at least be proactive, even though he really wants to believe that she can pull this off. Instead, he bites his lip to keep from offering her encouragement only to throw her off her game, and after another minute, he moves his own hand to rest beside hers, lacing his fingers through her own over that still small swell. It still feels weird to him, - weirder than Derek being with Lydia - the way her body is already changing, so he can't even imagine how it feels to her. And he's noticed the way that it always seems to be changing. Like one day, he'll be sure the whole world has to realize she's pregnant, and the next, she looks the way she always has. Or the way it seems to be the most obvious at night, but then not so obvious again the next morning. And now, it feels firm beneath his hand where she used to be softer curves. It feels permanent and real and so weird, but he keeps his hand there as she moves her hand a little closer to his, interlocking their fingers the rest of the way. 

And then she stops shaking. She's still rocking, but the shaking stops, and he feels like he can actually see the tension as it leaves her shoulders. 

And then she's silent. So silent, he can hear the way her breath seems to shake in her chest as she stops rocking. And then he can finally let out the breath that he didn't even realize he'd been holding. Because he was right to trust her all along. 

She's silent for another long minute, almost like she's waiting to make sure that it doesn't start again the way it normally does. But when she's still completely human after a minute - and then two - have passed, she opens her eyes and her face breaks into one of the widest smiles he's ever seen. "I did it." 

He can't help but laugh at her contagious glee. "You did it," he agrees before leaning in to kiss her, taking a page from her book as he uses this physical contact to show her how amazed he is by her rather than trying to put it into words. She's amazed him since they found out about the pup, if he's honest. She's taken it in stride while he's continuously fallen apart. She's been the stable, dependable one, and he can't help but feel like he's managed to become a total nutjob, freaking out every chance he has. But he's trying to work on that, and knowing that she's mastered this will be a _huge_ step in the right direction. 

Almost immediately, she pulls away from him, giggling and giddy in her excitement. "I did it. I'm the anchor." 

"I know." 

" _I'm_ the anchor." 

"You're the anchor," he agrees as she slowly moves from her knees so she's laying down beside him again, both of their hands still resting over that place where the pup is already changing daily. He lays back down too, using the hand that was supporting his weight to cup her cheek as he leans in to kiss her again.

The uncertainty of all of this is without a doubt the scariest part. Hell, just thinking about all of the unknowns ahead makes him feel a little lightheaded. But by far the biggest uncertainty so far has been her inability to control this, and the fear that it would happen when they least expected it. He still remembers that it took her time to figure out just how to use him as her own anchor; even in the middle of the night, he's thinking clearly enough to know that this isn't the last time she'll be dealing with this. But it'll get easier now. He's actually starting to feel like it could all get easier now. Like maybe they actually can do this thing. Or at least, they can figure it out together.


	4. Fourth Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note for this chapter: For plot purposes, Scott's birthday has been moved to the winter. I'm going to play the AU card with this one. 
> 
> Enjoy!:)

Once the shifting stops, Malia feels good. Like _really_ good. Like can’t-keep-her-hands-to-herself kind of good. And Stiles feels like there _must_ be a God if their ability to survive the shifting has been rewarded with this. 

Of course, the shifting isn’t _all_ gone. She still gets that feeling sometimes, and he still keeps that bottle of pills on his desk, but she can stop it on her own now, and it’s finally happening less frequently. In fact, it’s been a week now since she started feeling shifty the last time, and he’s not freaking out that it’s going to happen as soon as he leaves for class or falls asleep or blinks. But he’s also distracted. 

_Really_ distracted. 

After they were both out of Eichen House, when she was newly human and he was newly free of the nogitsune, their relationship was mostly physical. It wasn't like he hadn't wanted to take her out on a real date, complete with doors held open and a serious dent in his small bank account, but Malia didn't even really understand what a date _was_. And while she struggled with things like finding the right words for a situation and using doors to enter his house and matching her clothes on her own, she excelled at all things physical. And he definitely reaped the benefits - sometimes multiple times a day. She was still an animal in a lot of ways, and he let her embrace that when they were together, claws and all. And now, he feels like they're back there again when she jumps him the minute he walks through the door on a day when only he has class or she pounces almost immediately after they've finished their homework at night or, like this morning, when she snuck into the shower with him and they both missed their first class.

And he loves it. 

He also loves that she's feeling better now and that they no longer have to worry about that constant fear of shifting, but mostly he loves that they've finally taken the ban off sex. And he _really_ loves how insatiable she's become. 

Tonight, however, is one of those nights when she has to keep her hands to herself. At least for the time being. It's the weekend after Scott's birthday, so Allison comes home with the intention of throwing him a party. The problem is, living life as a part-time werewolf doesn't lend itself well to making friends, so it ends up really just being the pack at Scott's. Which doesn't make it much different than other evenings they've spent together, but it's kind of become the way they like it. Lydia comes home with Allison, so she's there with Derek in tow, and it's actually starting to seem a _little_ less weird to see him with her. And for reasons Stiles will never understand, Allison invites Liam who shows up with the same girl he thought might have witnessed his shift, a girl who is thankfully wearing more clothing than the first time Stiles met her. And then there's him and Malia who put up just a little bit of a fight about having to go before he reminded her that it's Scott's birthday and birthdays are one of those things that are important to friendship and packship and just _being human_. 

To be honest, though, they're all a little over this 21 thing - they were before there was a pup joining the pack, forcing some of them to be more adult than others. At least, being able to legally drink feels pretty inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. There was a time during their freshman year of college when Scott still wanted to at least try to be social and Stiles made him pay for dragging him along by forcing him to be his permanent DD. But that wore off quickly when Stiles realized that he was the only one waking up with regrets and Scott (and sometimes Malia when she came along) was the only one who could remember the stupid things he had done. Plus, there was always that anxious voice in the back of his head, the one that always left him thinking that sometimes, addiction was genetic. Of course, none of that stopped Stiles from taking his best friend out on his actual birthday while Malia caught up on sleep, teaching him about the benefits of a girlfriend with an increased sex drive over a drink that was purchased legally. Because even if they're over it, they can still appreciate that right of passage. 

But tonight, like Malia's birthday, just becomes an excuse for the pack to be together. Stiles doesn't realize just how long it's been since they've all been together until he sees Liam's eyes widen and his jaw drop when he spots Malia who has yet to care enough to try to mask the fact that she's starting to show.(They’ve talked about this - the fact that people stare and people might ask questions, but she doesn’t care. Just like she never cared when her clothes didn’t always quite match at first or the way she still sometimes wears the sweatshirt she was given at Eichen House. And he loves that about her.) In response, Stiles is quick to point out the fact that at least he never tied her up, thank you very much. But it's not just Liam. Stiles will never give Liam the benefit of the doubt for anything, but he doesn't miss the way Allison's eyes are immediately drawn to Malia's middle or the way that Lydia does a double take. After that third reaction, Stiles finds himself watching her too, noticing that the difference is a little more pronounced than he realized.And that's how he learns that he's gotten used to this already - it's just become normal to him. 

Despite her protests about going to Scott's, Malia settles in like she's been there since Pack Day One. She talks to Lydia and Allison about the baby, fielding their questions like the pro he knows she'll never believe she's become. She talks to Scott about her mother because she knows he and Stiles have started to formulate a plan, even though they have so little to go on. She talks to Derek about her success with the pup's anchor and how long it's been since her last shift and how she thinks she might have left her sweatshirt there, so has he seen it? She even talks to Liam, getting him caught up on all of the news he's missed out on these past few months. At some point, she even moves away from Stiles, leaving him the anti-social one while Scott is practically glued to Allison's side (This is what a long distance relationship has done to them - Stiles already knows he'd never have the patience for it.). But it doesn't bother him for the few short minutes he's alone. 

After all, he was the anti-social one for years before Malia came along. 

When the seat beside him is claimed again, it's by Lydia, not Malia. "Lyds," he greets her as he leans back against the couch, shooting her a smile. "What up?" 

Lydia's mouth is set in a firm line that he thinks is probably meant to tell him she's not a fan of the nickname. He follows her gaze across the room to Malia when she's quiet for a few seconds longer than she normally would be. "Malia looks better than the last time I saw her." 

"Yeah, she's good." Stiles turns his gaze on her, looking her up and down even though he doesn't _really_ mean to mimic the way she was watching his girlfriend. "You're wearing more clothes than the last time I saw you." 

Lydia makes a face, and he can't help but laugh. There are things she does that'll always make him laugh, even if he's moved past that childhood crush. Because that's what it was in retrospect, even when he was convinced he really did love her after she stumbled into his social circle. It took finding Malia - and realizing he really did love Malia - for him to understand that it was infatuation he felt towards Lydia and not any real emotion of substance. Still, there's a history there that can't be ignored, not entirely. Not when all of those years pining after her resulted in a very real friendship for the two of them. 

"How's Derek?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in her direction. He's never ever going to understand how _that_ happened. He's asked enough questions of enough pack members at this point (mainly Scott, Malia, and Allison) to know that at some point, Lydia went to Derek for help with her abilities that they still don't quite understand. Derek had been all dark and brooding since Braeden had abandoned the pack, and Lydia hadn't had contact with another banshee since Meredith had settled into a catatonic state at Eichen House. And after hours of trying to get the other girl to talk, Lydia had turned to Derek for some reason. He doesn't really know what happened after that, but he doesn't think he really wants to know. 

Seeing the two of them in their previous state of undress is _plenty_ to fill in the blanks about what happens during banshee lessons now.

"Fine. How are you?" 

"Fine." He evens go so far as to throw in a shrug of his shoulders to mimic her own. But now she has _that_ look, too. The same one his dad and Scott and Melissa and Malia and even Allison - sometimes - have adopted. Like she can see right through the wall he's finally been able to put up between himself and his fears. 

"Allison told me about the panic attacks." Which means Scott or, even worse, Malia, has been telling Allison . _Awesome_. 

"Okay, seriously: is nothing sacred anymore?" 

"Not in the pack." He always did like that rule until it was infringing on his personal right to privacy. And also his dignity. “Really, Stiles. How are you?” 

He sighs as he runs a hand through his hair, realizing now that there are situations more awkward than standing beside Lydia’s locker freshman year of high school and realizing she didn’t know he was talking to her when he just asked her to Homecoming. He knows Lydia witnessed one of his panic attacks firsthand, but that one was over a matter of life and death. Not a baby whose arrival is still thankfully a ways off. “Well, _really_ , Lydia, I’m fine. You can ask Scott - or probably Allison since she _apparently_ got the full run-down on the panicking. You can even ask Malia.” As he says her name, he looks back to where she was just seated next to Derek. But her spot is now vacant, and a quick survey of the room leads to the realization that she’s now standing right next to him. “Speak of the devil.” 

Malia looks from him to Lydia, her brows furrowed together in confusion, because even four years into this new life as a human, there are still phrases she doesn’t understand. And this is one of them. She might ask him about it later if she remembers, but for now, she shakes her head as if to clear away that confusion and turns her attention to him. “Can we leave?” she asks in very blunt, very Malia fashion. He bites his lip to keep from laughing because sometimes she has a hard time discerning between his laughing at what she said and laughing at her. 

“We talked about this,” he reminds her gently as he takes her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s Scott’s birthday. We’re celebrating with him.” 

But she doesn’t feel well, she lets him know, and he notices then that she looks a little off. Not jittery like she sometimes gets at the beginning of a shifting episode, but still not quite right. She says she doesn’t feel shifty, which he’s grateful for because as much as he trusts her - he swears he really does trust her - he’s never been alone in the car with her through one of those almost-shifts. And he’d rather not start tonight. Instead, she’s just nauseous, and if she’s going to do damage to the Jeep in some way, shape or form, he’d rather it be that. 

And of course, there’s no denying her request then. They can’t stay home because she would much rather be alone with him feeding this newfound insatiable level of desire, but they can definitely cut the evening short if she’s sick. There’s still that small twinge of panic in the pit of his stomach when she asks him a second time if they can leave, sounding a little more urgent that time. Because no one can really tell them what’ll happen next. He likes the idea that they’ve survived the worst with the shifting and they’re home free now, the rest of this playing out nice and human, but he’s also seen enough crazy in his life to know the chances of that happening are more than likely none to nonexistent. 

Without thinking, he moves his hand to that small swell, figuring this can probably be traced back to the pup, whatever it is that she’s feeling tonight. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks her one last time while they have the pack right there. 

“I just want to go home.” 

And that’s good enough for him. He’s on his way past Lydia when she takes his hand. “Hey Stiles?” He stops, trying to pay attention to what she wants to say and still watch Malia to make sure she remembers to say goodbye to at least Scott and Allison before they leave. “I think you’re more fine than you think you are,” she says, looking thoughtful in a way that makes him a little uncomfortable. “I’m really proud of you.” 

“Yeah, I'm proud of you, too. You finally learned how to dress appropriately for the occasion.” 

He hears the way she groans as he walks away, but it’s her words that leave him smiling to himself as they say their goodbyes. Sure, the panic’s still lurking there like it always has, along with the anxiety and the depression and the hyperactivity he’s been treated for in the past. But he doesn’t feel like it’s controling him right now. And it’s nice to know that Lydia, who has seen him through some of those weaker moments of the past, can see a difference now. 

And if he’s really being honest, he has to admit that he’s pretty damn proud of himself, too. 

\----  
They’re barely in the Jeep before she pounces - literally. Stiles is in the middle of a sentence, asking her if she’s sure she doesn’t feel shifty because he’d rather just go back inside if that’s the case, but she’s not even paying attention. She’s too busy watching the way his mouth forms the words and thinking about how all she really wants to do is kiss him - how all she’s wanted to do all night is kiss him. It’s what she’s been thinking about since before they left, when all she wanted to do was stay in bed with him all night and show him just how much she loves his mouth. And his hands. 

And other parts of him too. 

But he was the one who kept saying they had to go, even though she put up a fight. But she was on her best behavior all night, talking with Lydia and Allison and Scott and Derek - Derek who left her feeling anxious when all he wanted to talk about was whether or not Stiles knew she had talked to Peter. And now, she really just wants Stiles to herself, and she feels like she’s already waited long enough. 

He’s trying to put the key into the ignition when she moves to straddle his lap, cutting him off from the steering wheel. She sees how wide his eyes are for only half a second before she finally kisses him, gently teasing his mouth open with her tongue. But he doesn’t respond right away, like he’s frozen beneath her, and she whimpers in frustration. And then he finally seems to snap out of it, responding to her lips and her tongue and her hands against his cheeks, and that giddy feeling of having gotten away with something returns. 

In her excitement, she pulls back from him a little too fast and a little too hard, and she ends up feeling a little dizzy in her breathless glee. “Did I do it right?” 

“Do _what_ right?” He looks confused as his chest rises and falls quickly. And then his brows furrow a little closer together, somehow becoming more confused. “I thought you felt sick?” 

“I was. I was sick of _waiting_. So did I do it right?” Before he even really has a chance to answer her, she leans forward again to kiss him again, but he pulls back so she has to stop. 

“Whoa,” he says as he puts his hands on her shoulders. “You told me you were nauseous.” 

“Well, I’m not.” 

“Well, you can’t lie about this stuff." She can smell his frustration and his nerves, both making an appearance for the first time that night. 

“But you do," she argues back. She’s confused now, too. Just last night, his dad had wanted to talk to him about something, and she had listened to him feed his dad the lie that she was having problems with shifting again, so he really didn't want to leave her alone. And the last time his dad had wanted to have dinner with the two of them to _just see how things were going_ , he had told him that she was feeling nauseous and then ushered her back to his room before she could say a word. "You tell your dad all the time that I'm sick when I'm not." 

Stiles opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but then closes it just as quickly, so she leans in to kiss him again, but he stops her with his hands against her shoulder a second time. "Okay, first of all I _do not_ do that all the time," he says, his eyes wide again, making him look the way he does when what he thinks he's saying is really important. "And second of all, that's different." 

She doesn't understand how him avoiding conversations with his dad is different from her feigning nausea to leave a little early, but she's not sure she really cares. Not when she really just wants to start undressing him. "But did I do it? Did you really think I was sick?," she asks instead. 

"Yeah, but Mal, that's not a good-" As he's talking, her lips have moved to his jaw, and her hands have moved to his belt. His words end in a sudden, strangled sound when she finally is able to slip her hand inside of his clothes. "Oh my god," he says instead of however he had planned to end that sentence, and she can't help but smile against his skin. 

Because she knows when she does something right. 

She's impatient after she's been left to wait all night, planning this out in her head in a way that she thinks would make him proud while she mostly watched him from across the room. But she's tired of waiting, so she teases him with her hand until he's struggling against her, pulling his mouth away from her greedy one in order to tell her that she needs to stop if she doesn't want to be left to play this game by herself. Their actions become more of a flurry of activity as clothing is moved out of the way only as much as absolutely necessary. This isn't their first time in the Jeep, but things feel a little more complicated this time, most likely because there's no longer the same amount of space between her front and his. Or maybe it's just that her memory eliminated the sometimes awkward way they both have to shift to get her shorts off or allow him to free himself from the constraints of his own clothing. Either way, it doesn't matter once she's settling back onto his lap and he's settling inside of her with a groan. 

The sound she makes sounds like a purr to her own ears. She doesn't know what it is, but lately, it's like she can't get enough of him. She wants him like this all of the time, and when she can't have him like this, she thinks about it most of the time. When she told Stiles all of this, he tried to explain it to her as one of the other changes her body was going through, but he mostly talked about how hot it was in between his questions about whether or not she knew how amazing this was and what he could they do to make sure she stayed like this forever. But she's not trying to make sense of the comments he's made right now; instead, she leans into the hand he has up against her skin and under the fabric of her shirt, letting him cup her breast. And she begins to rock her hips against his own, not starting as slow as he normally would; she wants him too much to start that slow. And she is _finally_ going to get what she's wanted all night. 

His hand that isn't under her shirt cups her backside, helping her to rock herself against him as they both become breathless under the weight of this intense want that she's been trying so hard to ignore all day. She keeps her own hands on his cheeks, eventually leaning forward to press her forehead against his own, her gaze steady on him as she settles into this familiar rhythm. Sometimes, she feels like this is more familiar to her than any other human experience he's offered her. It was the first source of connection she discovered after becoming human again, and it's one that she depended on for a long while as her only source of connection. She's moved well beyond that now, but that doesn't mean this body doesn't feel the most comfortable when she can use her teeth and her claws and no one bats an eye. 

This time, she's less concerned about her teeth and her claws, though, and far more focused on that tension in the pit of her stomach, threatening to take her over. She makes a sound that's somewhere between a purr and a growl as she begins to move a little faster, looking for that climax more than anything else this time. Her eyes are still open when he groans again, and she watches the way his own roll back in his head when her movements become a little more frantic, a little more frenzied. Eventually, both of his hands end up against the bare skin of her back, guiding her while he tries to lift his hips and meet hers as best he can. It's not long before she feels him shake with the force of his own release, making a strangled sound that might include her name. Her head falls forward and she closes her eyes as she grinds against him then. And he's right there, whispering in her ear as he urges her on, encouraging her until she finally lets herself fall and comes with one last cry that borders on a yelp. 

"This is the last time," he tells her when he can talk again, his voice still breathless. "You can't do that." Despite her own smug smile, Stiles's face is stern to match his serious tone. The problem is, this has been her first defense since she became human. When she's met with something she can't quite comprehend or she doesn't feel ready to handle, she turns to the physical things she knows she can do already. Her conversation with Derek - her conversation about whether or not Stiles knows she spoke to Peter yet - is something she's not ready to handle. Because she hasn't figured out how to tell Stiles. 

So she needed this time in the Jeep, just like how he sometimes needs to postpone conversations with his father. 

"Okay," she agrees instead of trying to explain to him why she lied. 

"I'm serious. You have to tell me the truth about how you feel." 

"Okay." 

"Otherwise, I don't know when something's really wrong. 

" _Okay_." She leans down to kiss him in an attempt to pause his lecture, but he stops her like he did before, this time with a finger pressed to her lips. 

"And if anyone asks, we were parked here for so long because you were feeling shifty." He pauses for a minute, and she feels like she can literally see him think. "But that's the last time you lie about how you're feeling," he finally says. 

"Okay." 

He watches her intently, like he's waiting for her to lie again right now. But four years later, Malia is still loyal to a fault. She's an integral part of the pack, she understands the hierarchy there, and Stiles still comes first because he's her mate. Which means she _never_ lies to him. Which is most likely why he trusts her now, knowing that she'll keep her word. "Okay," he finally agrees. And that's that. 

There's less awkward confusion when she move off of his lap and they both put themselves back together. She offers to go back in with him, but Stiles scoffs, explaining that there is no excuse for where they've been this whole time or a way to explain away how she went from being so sick she had to leave to being just fine. So she settles back into the passenger side, feeling just a little proud of herself despite his insistence that she never do this again. 

She feels his eyes on her as he starts the Jeep, and when she looks back over at him, he laughs. "God, you're amazing," he says, and now there's no denying the fact that she's proud. _Really_ proud of her ability to fool him the way she's watched him fool others. 

It becomes the first of several times she'll cry wolf. 

\---- 

The second time she fakes sick, he might be even more shocked because there’s no threat. She never did this with her math class or the social events they dragged her along to in high school or the outings with his dad. But then again, this is one of those things, like procrastination and sarcasm and excuses, that he taught her without meaning to. 

It’s not until she does it that he becomes aware of just how many “coincidences” there have been in his own life lately. In his defense, he thinks he does a pretty good job of going to his dad on his own when he really needs to talk through something, even now. He’s told his dad about his fears and his panic attacks and the nightmares that still always have him counting his fingers once he’s awake. He’s told him about the shifting and the nausea and even that first appointment (Okay, so maybe that was only after he asked). But the bottom line is, when he needs to talk about something, he does it. But lately, his dad’s been hounding him, wanting to talk to _both_ of them about specifics - like where they’ll put the baby (He has no idea.) or what the baby will sleep in (What happened to _his_ crib?) or when they plan to start buying the things they need (But what _do_ they need?). And Stiles feels like these are decisions they still have months to make, so there’s no hurry. (He ignores the fact that Malia made a comment just the other day about the baby coming in 25 weeks and it made him feel just as nauseous as she’s been pretending to be.) Plus every time he uses the word pup, he can literally feel his dad gearing up for another lecture. So, there may have been a fabricated shifting incident and a few fictionalized bouts of nausea when Malia was really just fine. 

He’s probably been playing that game too much with her, too. But suddenly she keeps bringing up Peter, and it’s like a reflex - He hears his name, and there’s suddenly a paper to write, a test to study for, an article to finish, even a conversation with his dad. He always tells her they’ll talk about it later, but he never actually means it. And even though there’s always a twinge of guilt, he reassures himself that it’s for the best that he’s helping her to cut Peter out of her life. 

But the fact that he’s excused his way out of things enough times to have taught her how is only one of his bad boyfriend moments for the week. The second comes only after he realizes it’s been a few days since she’s worn anything other than one of his old lacrosse sweatshirts and yoga pants that he didn’t think she even really liked. And when he finally asks her why she’s adopted the wardrobe of a cartoon character, she tells him that, with the exception of a few things she bought with Allison, nothing fits. He’s left wondering what’s worse: the fact that he didn’t notice, or the fact that she didn’t tell him. 

At least this one, he tries to remedy. Stiles knows as much about girls' clothes as he knows about werecoyote pups, so he makes a few phone calls when he realizes they’re entering unmarked territory here. Melissa offers to take her over the weekend when she has some time off, and Stiles thanks her profusely. Allison suggests they go through her closet first to see if there's anything that still fits, and they succeed in finding a few things that still mostly fit. Lydia reminds him more than once that she's never been pregnant, so therefore, why would she know how to shop for this? And Stiles _might_ have hung up on her. But when he commits to helping her solve this problem, he never envisions standing in a parking lot next to the opened passenger side door while she refuses to get out of the Jeep.

He has a feeling that if he could sniff out her emotions like she can his, she'd smell a whole lot like him - anxious and worried and maybe a little unsure of herself for once. "Feel like getting out yet?" he asks after he's stood there for a full two minutes while she just watches him, almost like this is a game to her and she's waiting to see what move he'll make next. But her feet stay curled beneath her, her seatbelt still clicked into place

"I don't feel good." Her hand is pressed to the bump at her waist like she' s going straight for the sympathy vote. But if she's trying to pull _that_ again, his sympathy she will not receive. He raises an eyebrow in her direction to make this clear. She sighs and lets her head fall back against the headrest when she realizes she's been caught in a lie this time. "I don't need to do this. I'm wearing my clothes today." 

This he can't argue. They are _technically_ her own clothes. (Though he didn't realize just how much his sweatshirt had been able to cover, and now she just looks _really_ pregnant. He's trying _really_ hard to ignore the way that makes him feel like he might panic or vomit. Or maybe both.) The problem is, not all of her clothes fit that well - including the cutoffs she's wearing right now. 

He steps closer, lifting up the hem of her shirt to reveal the safety pin she's using as a closure for her self-made shorts because the button wouldn't _quite_ reach (another suggestion from Allison after Stiles declared the clothes situation a state of emergency). "This doesn't count as fitting." He knows he can say this to her and she won't burst into tears or take it as an insult. Unlike him, she's been totally fine with all of these changes happening to her body- right up until they got here and she refused to get out of the car. "C'mon. What's up?" he asks her, genuinely wanting to know why she's made no move to get out of the car still. But she's silent, still watching him just as intently as before without saying a word. 

Two more minutes of silence, and he sighs. "I will stand here all day if I have to." 

"I just don't _get_ this." His expression changes to one of confusion in response. Because so far, she's understood what's happening to their pup before he has, so he's not sure what there is to "get." 

"The pup's growing, so you need new clothes. It's normal." 

But she shakes her head, and he's pretty sure that if he really could catch her scent right now, it'd smell an awful lot like frustration. "No. I get _that_." She tugs at her shirt, and it's only then that he realizes he's still holding onto it and lets go. Her eyes are pleading with him when she looks back up. "I _hate_ shopping." 

And then it clicks. After four years, he knows she feels like she should have this human thing down. And he should know by now that she gets upset like this when she doesn't. Clothes are what she doesn't _get_. He figured that out a long time ago - back when she would do things like wear the sweats she had been given at Eichen House or go to leave his room in the morning without putting her clothes back on first. She's resigned herself to the necessary evil of clothes at this point, but he's heard her rants about how they make her feel like she can't breathe and they slow her down. And on the few occasions they've gone shopping together since she moved in, he's heard her rants about the numbers on her clothes. About how they make no sense (He agrees so much with this; he never will understand why there's only one number on her jeans and how that number can be a zero.) and how it's never the same number when it should be. With Allison and Lydia's help, though, shopping has become less of a challenge and almost something she enjoys - sometimes. 

But she's also smart enough to know that there has to be a new number now, and it'll be like her very first shopping trip all over again. 

He leans back into the Jeep, resting a hand beneath her chin. "Honestly? I have no idea what I'm doing either." He gives her a sheepish grin, but it's not one she returns. To be honest, she looks like he took her to the Mathlete's National Championship, and, as if she can read his mind, she picks up her hand from her lap to look at it, and he catches sight of claws. 

Just add this forced trip to the list of asshole moves he's made so far this week. 

"Whoa. Calm down, Mal. It's okay." His hand goes to her shoulder, as far away from the claws as possible. She's worked herself into such a frenzy now, he's starting to wonder if it might just be best if they abandon this trip for now. Besides, how many people really pay enough attention to notice she's been wearing one of two sweatshirts on campus most days? But he's also the one who talked her into a lot of scary firsts, so he's not ready to wave his flag just yet. "You're so much better at this pup thing than me," he admits to her honestly. "But it's okay for you to not get this. Let's just try to figure it out together, okay?" She doesn't say anything, but he can no longer see claws in his peripheral vision, and he _thinks_ he can see her resolve starting to crack. So he decides to throw in a bribe as a last ditch effort: "How about I help you find clothes, then you can take mine off when we get home?" 

She's silent for a while, and he knows her expression well enough to know that she's thinking this over. "Why can't we just have sex?" 

He bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing. She's gotten better at picking up on his sarcasm, his jokes, sometimes even his innuendo, but there are still times like right now when he can watch it sail right over her head. "We can do that too." 

And finally - _finally_ \- she undoes her seatbelt and gets out of the Jeep. 

And he's so much more proud of her than she'll probably ever understand. Because it's not easy. She only needs enough for right now, but even finding enough to get her through the week is _hard_. For one, everything that she'll be able to wear for longer than just the next couple weeks is flowy and feminine and lace or floral or a pastel. It's the antithesis of his girlfriend who never surprises him when she wrinkles her nose at most of what she looks at. And figuring out her size is impossible without forcing her to try things on - which he knows for a fact she hates even more than she hates shopping. Which is probably also why she is _on_ him when he helps her get settled in the fitting room with the things he's been carrying around for her. It starts with her mouth on his and ends with him using every last ounce of self control he has to make her pull her little hand away when very pointedly gropes the front of his jeans. 

"Clothes first," he reminds her as he backs up out of the fitting room. "That later." 

He feels a little lightheaded each time she steps out of the fitting room because now that she's wearing things that actually fit, there's a _whole_ lot more pup there than he realized. He distracts himself by texting Scott constant reminders of why he and Allison should adopt an abstinence till marriage policy like five minutes ago, and Scott keeps trying to convince him that forcing Malia to do something she obviously hates so much can't be _that_ bad. Still, he manages to give his approval to most things, even ones that she doesn't seem so crazy about. In the end, she is content enough with enough things to last her for a little while, and they're both exhausted. She doesn't have to say a word for him to know she's more than ready to just leave. 

By the time they're back home, he doesn't even expect her to make it up the stairs before she pounces again, but while he's replying to a text from Scott, she disappears. He finds her in the bathroom, looking at herself in profile while she smooths her shirt down over that still small bump. He leans against the doorframe, watching her in silence for a few seconds as he tries to figure out what it is she's doing. 

"You okay?" he asks when at least a full minute has passed and she hasn't looked away from the mirror. She had to have sensed him here before now, probably even smells his curiosity, so he's not surprised when she turns around but doesn't jump. 

"I'm fine." She meets his eyes as she talks to him, but then she immediately goes back to watching her reflection. He's getting ready to ask another question when she speaks again. "How big is the pup again?" 

“An apple.” There’s no hesitation because he’s read through it enough times to have it memorized. This week, it’s the size of an apple. Next week, it’ll be an avocado. It started out the size of a poppy seed. and once the comparisons get bigger than a pineapple, he always stops looking. He figured out there were just too many unknowns in the beginning, like how many pups there were and whether or not they would even be pups. And then, the shifting thing started and he was even less prepared. And even though she feels fine right now, there’s that voice in the back of his mind that insists on reminding him that she felt fine before the shifting started, too. At least the human side of things, he can Google and research and obsess over. At some point, she saw it on his phone or his computer, so now he updates her, too. The pup is an apple, almost an avocado, and he leaves out the part that it’ll eventually be bigger than a pineapple. 

In front of the mirror, Malia pulls up the hem of her shirt, her hand curving around the side of that tiny swell. The rational part of his mind knows that she looks the same as she did a second ago, but the rest of his mind is starting to get a little warm and short of breath. But if it shows on his face, she doesn't even notice. She's too focused on her reflection in the mirror, and it's only when he's watching her that he starts to wonder if she's even noticed how much she's changed before today. She just doesn't spend a whole lot of time in front of a mirror. She sometimes pulls her hair up or back, but he's watched her do it hundreds of times without a mirror. And despite Lydia's best efforts, Malia still has absolutely no interest in makeup. So there's a very real possibility that she didn't notice what he's been noticing for weeks until she was surrounded by mirrors in the fitting room. 

She's not saying anything after he answers her question, and he feels like he has to do something to fill the silence. Or maybe it's just that he can't stand this still, so he'll settle for moving his mouth this time. "Can you feel it?" 

She shakes her head, eyes still on her reflection. "No. But I can hear her. It's so fast." Finally, she turns to face him instead of the mirror. "She sounds like you." 

"Glad I could pass on my hyperactive tendencies." He grimaces as he says it because it's kind of a real fear of his - that he's going to pass on all of his worst qualities - a pup who's a hyperactive asshole with a serious case of anxiety, sometimes accompanied with depression and insomnia. 

There's also something about hearing her use a pronoun. He's been calling it "it" and pup for so long, it's just kind of started to stick. But it also means he thinks about it as "it" and pup, and now that she gave it a pronoun, it's hard to think about it as anything other than what it is: a very real baby. "You think it's a girl?" 

"She _is_ a girl," she tells him without batting an eye. Like she just told him that it's sunny or it's Thursday or that the freaking sky is blue. Not like she just told him their pup is no longer an "it." 

He stares at her, wide eyed, waiting for her to elaborate. To tell him that it's just a feeling she has or something like that. But she's staring at him expectantly too. "Wait, what?" he asks when he gets too impatient, cocking his head to the side. "You know she's a girl? You can sense that?" She only nods in response. "How long have you known for?"

"I don't know. A while." 

His eyes are even wider now. "And you didn't think to mention she's a girl?" 

"It never came up." 

"It never came _up_? You bring it up!" He doesn't realize that he's gotten so worked up until he notices how wide her eyes are now. He sighs as he finally moves out of the doorway and into the room, trying to calm down. It's not that he's mad - it's so like her to not think to mention that the pup is good, and oh, by the way, she's a _girl_ now. But knowing that she's a girl is one of those things that makes this feel very real. And knowing that this is... well, this is their _daughter_ makes his heart race a little faster. But it's not really a bad feeling. 

"I should know these things," he says, sounding much more calm this time. "You should tell me these things. You should tell me everything about her." 

And she agrees - _of course_ she agrees because it's not like she was ever trying to keep secrets. Before he can even let her know that he knows she wasn't trying to keep it from him, she starts telling him about how she can sense her there even though she can't feel her, that it was shortly after she started acting as anchor for the pup that she realized the pup was a girl, that no one else knows, except maybe Scott who could probably sense it too. He realizes quickly that there's not much to tell, but he still lets her tell him everything she knows. (Later on, it'll be a source of guilt when he realizes they probably haven't talked much about the pup because everything about it had him gasping for breath just a couple weeks ago.) And as she talks, his hand finds its way to her tiny bump, resting beside her own. 

"So she's really a girl?" he asks when she's quiet again, rubbing slow circles with his thumb against her soft skin. 

"She's definitely a girl." 

It won't sink in until later, after she reminds him that he owes her payment on a bribe - like when she's asleep and he _can't_ sleep because he can feel her curves against his back when she pulls her arms tightly around him in her sleep. 

And then he'll think about how the baby doesn't seem like a pup anymore if she's a girl - she's a _baby_. And how she'll really be just like Malia now - in more ways than one. 

\---- 

The next time she fakes sick it's because she hates school. She liked it at first, when she was just joining the pack and everything was new and something to explore. But then she learned that there were lots of things about school that she didn't understand. Like rules and homework and friendships. And even though Stiles was always there to help her figure out a math problem or remind her of the dress code, she mostly found herself frustrated when it took her so long to catch on to all of these things that everyone else just seemed to know automatically. She started to feel comfortable at Beacon Hills High just in time to leave. 

And that would probably have been the end of her education had it not been for Stiles. 

But Stiles was starting at City College the next fall, and he wanted her to attend, too. To _just give it a try_. And she didn't want to disappoint him, so she went along with his plan. She found a major she was interested enough in, she created a schedule that included no math, and she convinced herself that this would be better because she survived those first two years back in high school. And in some ways, it was - She liked the freedom of her schedule. She liked the fact that she could go running between classes or while she waited for Stiles at the end of the day. And she liked that Stiles was still so close, their schedules nearly identical and their classes the exact same whenever possible. But it was still school. Eventually, there was still math. And now, there are still rules she doesn't quite understand. 

Like right now, when they're waiting for Scott in the library on campus and she is in Stiles's lap, using his mouth to pass the time. 

To be honest, she's moved away from the habit of graphic PDA sessions (though that was a lesson that took _a lot_ of reteaching when she first started at BHHS and found herself constantly around Stiles). Even now, when she really feels like she _needs_ him more often than she doesn't, she's pretty good about knowing what's okay and what's not in public. (His bedroom - good. The jeep - normally okay. In front of his dad - absolutely not happening.) But she ends up in his lap here and now because she can smell his disappointment the minute he sees her, and her tongue ends up in his mouth because then he can't talk. 

He takes advantage of the fact that she has to eventually come up for air, moving his hands from where they had been against her waist to instead hold her shoulders and keep her from moving closer. "Why aren't you in class?"

"I told my professor I was sick." 

"What did we say about making excuses?" 

"But I didn't make you think I was sick." She had even made a point of telling Stiles in the Jeep that morning that she felt fine, knowing that she would email her professor to tell him that she wouldn't be in class that morning. And her professor didn't seem to think it was a problem, so she doesn't understand why Stiles thinks it is. She's reached a point now where the pup isn't so much of a secret, especially now that she's been wearing clothes that actually fit. Stiles explained that the pup's the reason why she can feel the way people stare sometimes now. One of her professors even pulled her aside to talk to her about his slightly altered expectations for her (Stiles isn't happy about that when she tells him on the way home because _she's pregnant not an invalid_. She's not happy about it either after he puts it that way.), and she can hear the girls who sit in front of her and Stiles in their one shared class whisper about whether or not she really is (After she tells him, he leans forward to tell them that _yeah, she's really pregnant. Do they have any other questions?_ ) 

If everyone else is paying so much attention to the pup, she doesn't understand why she can't use it to her advantage. 

"Plus," she continues as he finally loosens his grip on her shoulders. "I'm tired of you and Scott doing all the fun stuff without me." 

He cocks his head to the side, forehead creased in confusion. "What fun stuff?" 

"You add to the board after you're with Scott. Every time." She's too observant of her surroundings to not notice that there's a steady stream of information being added to his board in his room in regards to her mother. Sometimes, she notices something new after she's been with Lydia or Allison, sometimes it's on the rare occasion when she still feels under the weather, but there's alway something new on Tuesday and Thursday - when her last class of the day ends after theirs. So today, she's skipping class so she can plot too. 

When Stiles starts to protest again, she adds the fact that this is _her_ mother they're looking for, and she thinks she might be close enough to feel the way his resolve weakens and then breaks. In its place, she catches the scent of his pride - probably over her sneaky habits or her interest in his detective work this time. By the time Scott arrives, she's relocated to her own chair, legs folded beneath her, ready to help them find her mother. When their partner-in-crime does eventually arrive, he asks about her being there, but when Stiles says she wanted to be a part of the conversation, Scott accepts it without further question as he takes a seat across from them. 

Malia likes Scott. He has a tendency to make her feel safe no matter what is going on around them. But today, Scott and Stiles use the phrase dead end a lot when they talk about Peter and Derek and the few legal documents she has in her possession. She knows “dead end” is a phrase she should know by now, but whatever it is, it definitely doesn't sound like a good thing. Judging from the way Stiles's knee bounces more violently the longer they talk, she thinks she's right. 

Eventually, it's Scott who turns to her, his scent somehow still a hopeful one even though they've gotten nowhere. "What about you? Any ideas?" 

She shifts uncomfortably in her chair and brings a hand to rest against her middle in lieu of a response at first. It's become a habit, to rest her hands against that small swell whenever there’s even the slightest scent of a threat in the air. It's some natural instinct to protect the pup already taking over. And she feels protective right now because she has her own reason for wanting to be a part of this conversation today. Because she's been keeping her own secret for a while now. In her defense, though, she's been trying to tell Stiles about this for weeks. 

He just never actually listens. 

Now, though, she has command of their full attention as they both keep watching her. She doesn't realize just how long she's been silent until Stiles's forehead creases with familiar worry, and she chooses this as her moment because she doesn't know when she might have another chance. "I talked to Peter." 

Suddenly, both of them are silent as they look to each other and then back to her. Stiles's leg finally stops. "When?" 

"When you went to see Allison and Lydia." Just like she could smell his sense of pride before, she can see his realization now as it slowly falls like a mask over his face while he must do the math in his head. 

"You went that long ago and you didn't tell me? You talked to _Peter_?"

“Hey, Man -” 

Whatever Scott was planning to say is put on hold by Stiles's hand as he holds it up without looking away from her. "We agreed that you wouldn't go see Peter." 

" _You_ said that. I wanted to talk to him myself." 

"So, what'd he say?" Scott leans across the table, giving her his full attention. It's hard for her to look away from his gaze, but Stiles doesn't give her much choice when he’s talking right beside her, getting louder as he goes. 

"You never even _told_ me you were going. What happened to not keeping secrets?" 

Whatever was left of his pride has been replaced by the stench of disappointment and anger. She's known all along that this would happen. She didn't know how or when he would find out that she went to Peter, but she knew more than a week ago when she started trying to tell him what she had done that it wouldn't go over well. But it takes Stiles labeling it as a secret for her to feel the full weight of it. The back of her throat is starting to feel tight, tight in a way that makes her skin feel itchy. As much as she loves parts of this body, she hates the emotions it feels. 

She tells him that she didn't mean to keep it a secret, but he's relentless, cutting her off to ask another flurry of questions: Did she not mean to go? Did she not mean to keep it a secret? Did she not mean to tell him now? More than once, she hears Scott try to interject something, but Stiles either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore him. She wishes Stiles would let Scott talk because she doesn't have an answer to his questions. She can feel the way her eyes start to well as she struggles with the realization that she did lie to him - the one thing she's alway been so determined to not do. 

She’s not used to getting so emotional when she talks to him, not even now when she’s noticed that there are tears in her eyes much more frequently than there ever has been before. But the anxious feeling the tears bring make it that much harder for her to focus on his questions and try to form an answer. "It wasn't supposed to be a secret," she finally manages, both of her hands still pressed to her middle like the pup's some kind of security blanket. "Derek knew." 

"You went with _Derek_?" 

"C'mon, Stiles. Just let her talk." Scott leans further across the table, and she can sense something different about him this time. It's a scent she recognizes, one that makes her think of Liam and afternoons with Scott and Stiles when Scott was teaching her how to control her abilities. Like he's channeling his inner alpha even though there's no threat or full moon as far as she can see. 

She turns her head at the sound of Scott's voice, but Stiles's hand comes to rest under her chin, gentle but insistent when he makes her look back at him. "You went with _Derek_?" he repeats himself, but she doesn't respond a second time. This time, it's because she's too distracted by the way his hand is gone from under her chin just as quickly as it appeared there. 

Now, his hand is in Scott's grip. 

And she can see his claws. And his eyes glow red as he looks at Stiles, mouth forming a snarl. 

She doesn't understand this either, she understands it a whole lot less than the tears that appeared in her eyes and the way she's supposed to answer Stiles's questions to make him less mad. Luckily for her, Stiles doesn't seem to understand anymore than her. He also seems to have forgotten about her, his attention now focused on Scott. 

"Dude. What the hell!?" 

Just as suddenly as they turned red, Scott's eyes are back to normal, _wider_ than normal as he looks at his hand around Stiles's wrist and then back at Stiles's face. "I-I don't know." 

"Did you think I was gonna hurt her?" 

"I don't know," Scott says again as he pulls back his hand, turning it over and then back again like he's trying to study the claws that are already gone. His eyes are still wide when he looks back up at her and Stiles. "It just happened. I couldn't really control it." 

"Oh my god." Stiles is wide-eyed now, too. Malia doesn't know if he realizes it or not, but his hand has migrated to her knee, his touch a little softer and gentler than before. "Scott, she'd take me in five seconds if I ever even tried." He's quiet for a half second before he finishes. "Which I wouldn't, for the record."

It's shame that's on Stiles now, shame and embarrassment and regret. And she hates it. Before Scott even has a chance to respond, she jumps in. "He would never hurt me," she agrees, shaking her head for emphasis. "And he's right. I could totally take him." 

There's a beat of silence following her response as the boys look to each other. Despite the tension, she thinks Stiles might smile in Scott's direction. "I know you'd never hurt her. I really don't think it was about Malia," Scott says when he finally speaks, looking right at her. "I think it was about the pup..." 

Which makes sense, they agree, once Stiles has at least started to let the whole thing go, and Scott has apologized almost as much as Stiles did after trying to force her into finding an anchor for their pup. Because even though this pup belongs to her and Stiles, she will be born into the pack, making Scott her alpha. Which makes her the youngest, least experienced member of his pack, and he already feels like he's her alpha. 

He already feels like he's supposed to protect her. 

Eventually, Stiles stops focusing on Scott's newfound instincts long enough to apologize to her, then ask about her conversation with Peter. And she relays the little that she knows back to them. That Peter insisted that he didn't know where her mother is, but Malia doesn't trust him. That he insisted her mother wasn't someone she wanted to know. That he insisted that her mother had given her up in January, even though her birthday is in November. (She even finds a way to explain just how many times she tried to tell Stiles about this before now, but he was always suddenly busy whenever she tried. His face immediately turns red when she says this.) Just like she had hoped, Stiles grows quieter than normal when she mentions the two dates that don't match up. His knee bounces a little faster, and his hand that's still on her knee starts to move in slow circles. 

"What happened between January and November then?" Stiles asks aloud after they've all been quiet for a while. His eyes are focused on the top of the table, a good sign that he isn't looking to her for an answer. "You would've had to be with her, right?" She shrugs her shoulders because she doesn't know. She has no memories from when she was that young, and she was never told anything about her parents when she was little. She didn't even know she was adopted until after the accident, until it came up in a meeting with the social worker. But it makes sense that she would have still been with her mother then. 

"I think that's where we should start," Stiles says as he sinks back in his chair, giving her his full attention now. "Let's find out." 

It's not much, but it's the very start of a plan, still just as tiny as their pup is right now. But it's a plan, and she's one step closer to finally finding out where she came from. 

\----  
Their answer comes in the form of a freaking text message. It's all very anti-climactic, considering the weeks they've spent with nothing to go on. 

When he's finished apologizing and hearing her out and explaining that the biggest issue he has with her conversation with Peter is that she didn't tell him (He spends way more time trying to get her to understand this than he normally would've because there's something about Scott's whole alpha reaction that makes Stiles feel like this might be one of the worst things he's ever done to her.), he helps her text her adoptive father. As he furiously types up a text about a fabricated assignment about family history for a fabricated psychology class, he tries to explain to her that _this_ lie is okay because 1) it's not the kind of lie that involves her or the pup's well-being, and 2) her dad is an asshole (He doesn't say it to her like this - he's working on being more respectful). It's probably not the kind of conversation she should be having via text, but Malia still doesn't realize there's an etiquette to these kinds of things, and he's not about to sit through another conversation with her dad after the last one went so well. But it works. A few hours later, they have confirmation that Malia didn't become Malia Tate until she was nearly three months old. 

Thus begins Stage Two of Stiles's plan. 

Really, he has to thank his own dad who won't get off his case for the idea behind Stage Two. Because even though the pup won't be here for months, his dad is still determined to go through boxes of his old baby things to see if there's anything they want for the pup. Which makes him wonder if there might not be boxes like that in Malia's old house. And if said boxes might have something they can use to trace back to her mom. He's set foot in the Tate house maybe three times - the second to last being the day he helped her pack up the few things she wanted to take with her when she moved into the guest room at his house - and that's been three times _way_ too many for him. But it's also three times that have taught him her childhood home is basically a living vigil to her mother and sister with nothing out of place. So there's hope that the things she outgrew before she became a coyote have been treated with the same care. 

And now that he's back inside the Tate house, he thinks it's a pretty safe bet that things haven't changed much in the time Malia's been gone. For one, they're greeted by that same damn dog the minute Malia's let them in using the hidden spare key, growling and baring its teeth at her before she's even finished stepping into the house. Immediately, Scott and Stiles are both there, jumping in front of her even as she growls back at the dog and sends him retreating with his tail between his legs. The dog's never actually a threat to anyone, but Stiles is annoyed enough by Scott's inner alpha and its need to protect _his_ girlfriend and pup that he plays it up, just for good measure. After glaring at Scott, he gently touches her shoulder and presses a hand to that small pup bump, asking her if she's okay - to which she brushes off both his hands as she insists that she's fine. 

"You - and you," she says as she points her finger at both Stiles and Scott. "Both of you need to stop." 

As she walks off in the direction of the basement, Stiles can't stop himself from glaring at Scott one more time and asking, "How would Allison feel about this, Scott?" (Even as he's following in the direction Malia went, he can hear Scott insist once again that he _seriously can't control it_.) 

The hope was that there would be boxes of her old things somewhere in the house, and at least there are plenty of boxes in the basement. As soon as all three of them are down there, Malia looks expectantly at him, even though all three of them were together when this plan was conceived. "Try to find something with a scent. Even a picture or a name - we need something to go off of." 

He watches her as she makes her way around the basement, past boxes marked _Christmas_ and stacks of records and furniture that must've belonged to Malia and her sister because it barely comes up to his knees. She doesn't ever talk about her family anymore, so he has no way of knowing how she feels being back here. In fact, the knowledge he has of her family is incredibly limited. Like he knows that her mom - her adoptive mom - constantly listened to female rockers, and now Malia's phone is filled with Pat Benetar and Stevie Nicks, but he doesn't know if Malia misses her every time she hears the opening notes to "Love is a Battlefield." And he knows there was a time when her father was still happy, happy enough to drive his daughters to the coast most Sundays and spend the day on the beach, but he doesn't know if her father also had a temper back then, leaving Malia shaking like she did the whole ride home from their dinner with him. 

But she seems to only be on a mission, and he is, too, even if he has no idea what he's looking for. Scott takes the other side of the room while he and Malia continue to walk past boxes, peaking into unmarked ones to make sure they don't hold any clues to her past. They're all silent for so long, he almost jumps when she finally speaks. "We're not going to have one of those, right?" 

He looks up to see her standing in front of what he assumes must've been her crib. "What? A crib?" 

"It looks like a _cage_." 

In his peripheral vision, he can see that Scott has stopped looking through whatever box had his attention and is now 100% paying attention to Awkward Baby Conversation #756. Seriously, he's been so not prepared for the amount of questions she's had or declarations she's made that he assumed were just a given. Like babies are born in hospitals and then they're fed with bottles and they sleep in cribs. End of story. Of course, as soon as he looks over at Scott, his best friend turns back to the box like he hasn't heard a word. No help at all. 

"Where else is the pup gonna sleep?" he asks, honestly curious about the way her mind works at times like these. 

"With us." 

His eyes are wide as he looks back over at Scott who has given up on pretending not to eavesdrop, and then back at Malia. "In our _bed_?" She nods, and Stiles feels nauseous. This is another conversation that's going to take time and effort on his part because there is absolutely _no way_ he's about to sleep in the same bed as their tiny newborn baby. "We'll talk about it later," he tells her, hoping that later comes sometime after a crib is already put together, ready and waiting for the pup. 

"Hey, I think I found something," Scott says before she can try to argue about having this conversation now. Soon enough, they're all on the floor in front of boxes filled with clothes and toys that they're hoping belonged to Malia and not her sister. Malia's legs are folded beneath her, and she's being super clinical about the whole thing, pulling things out and discarding them in a pile beside her quickly. Stiles starts to feel like he's taking too long, but every time he opens a box to find tiny sleepers or onesies or dresses, it takes him awhile to look away because they're so tiny. It's hard to believe anything could ever be that tiny. 

And it's really freaking hard to believe that there's something even tinier inside Malia that will eventually be that size. 

Pulling out some of those tiny clothes pays off, though. Nestled underneath a layer of sleepers in one of those boxes is a smaller box. And when he opens that box, he has the feeling he's hit the jackpot. There's only a picture, a blanket, and another tiny sleeper there, but it's the way the items fit together. When he holds up the photo, Malia confirms that the woman holding the baby, the one with dirty blonde hair and eyes that look way too much like Malia's, isn't the adoptive mom Malia grew up with. And they can all agree that the blanket and the sleeper are the ones in the picture. 

"That's her," Malia says aloud after she's snatched the picture away from him, studying it carefully like she might be able to see something written there that he missed. "That has to be her, right?"

"I don't know," Stiles says because he promised himself when they started this search for her mom that he wasn't ever going to give her false hope. "I think it might be." 

Scott joins them on their side of the room, taking the blanket that's still sitting in the box. He brings it to his face while Malia is still entranced by that photo. "It smells like Malia," he confirms when he notices Stiles is watching him. "But there's another scent here, too." Malia turns her head to listen to their conversation, and Scott must catch sight of the photo then, too. Or at least the tiny stuffed dog in the woman's other hand. "Hey, I saw that dog over there."

When Scott retrieves it from one of the boxes he went through, Malia snatches that too. 

"I went everywhere with this," she explains as she smooths down its fake fur. She's treating it like something far more valuable than a stuffed animal, like something far more fragile than it really is. "It went missing right before the accident, I have no idea how it ended up here. But it has to be from her, right?" 

Stiles nods as he drops down to sit on the floor beside her again. "That'd be my guess." While she's distracted by the dog, he takes the photo back, finding more of his girlfriend's features on that unfamiliar face and not knowing if they're really there or if his subconscious is just this desperate for a lead. But they have the blanket, the stuffed animal, the sleeper. They have confirmation that it's not someone Malia remembers from the time she spent with her family. They might finally have something they can work with. 

He holds up the picture for a second time as he looks back over in Scott's direction. "Think you can find her with that scent?" 

"I can try." 

They take a detour to her parents' room before they leave, making sure that the unfamiliar scent on the blanket doesn't belong to the Tates. But even though Scott and Malia agree that her adoptive parents are represented there, there's definitely something else. They take the blanket, the picture, and the dog with them when they leave. 

And hope. They take a lot of hope that they'll finally be able to find her mom when she needs her the most.  
\---- 

In addition to being her security blanket, her favorite bribe, and her favorite past time, sex has also become her reward of choice. As in, if she goes to the doctor and doesn't pretend to be all shifty, then she gets to take his clothes off when they get home. He's not exactly proud of this arrangement, but he's also never going to be the one carrying the pup, so he's giving her what she wants. 

And today, she wants to take advantage of the empty house. She wants him on his back on the couch as soon as they're home, barely even inside the door. 

Which is making it _really_ damn hard for him to keep trying to have the same conversation he's been attempting to start with her for weeks. 

It doesn't take Lydia's insane level of intelligence or Scott's alpha senses to know that Malia hates the doctor - to the point where it's a challenge to even get her to agree to get out of the Jeep. She hates being touched by a stranger, and she hates being watched like she's something to be studied - probably because she was all the local media wanted to cover when she was found in the woods and she literally _was_ watched like she was something to be studied. But most of all, he knows she hates that there's usually something about these doctor's appointments that she doesn't understand. And it doesn't matter how many times he tells her that he could write a whole series on all of things he doesn't understand or how many times she's witnessed him googling something (a habit he needs to break because it mostly leads to regrets): she still gets this look in her eyes whenever they're waiting together in that exam room that makes him think she probably shares his signature scent of fear and worry. Even though they've done this a few times now, today she looks like she's been cornered by some huge predator for the entire appointment, looking to him when the doctor asks a question, even when it's about how she's feeling and he really has no clue how she should answer. 

So it makes sense - at least to him - when she's climbing into his lap in the parking lot, her mouth hot against his own as she acts with a clear purpose in mind. But it's the middle of the day, and he's pretty sure he catches the glare of the mother escorting her two children inside out of the corner of her eye, so he convinces her to wait until they get home. 

He never really means to start the conversation. He really doesn't. 

And now, her body is blanketing his on the couch and her tongue is in his mouth to effectively end the conversation he was still trying to have when they mostly stumbled through the door as she basically pounced him. But the way home is the third time he's heard her made a comment about how she doesn't understand why they're bothering to make these doctor's appointments when the baby won't be born in the hospital anyway. And if there's anything in the world that can distract him from her body, it's fear. 

It takes all of the will power he possesses, but he eventually moves his hands to her upper arms, forcing her to pull away from him. "Malia, I really think we need to talk about this hospital thing," he says when he's not gasping to catch his breath. 

"Okay. Later." She doesn't even wait for him to respond before she's leaning in again, slipping her tongue back into his mouth. He groans because he can't help it. He also humors her for another minute or two before he reminds himself that he's supposed to be having a conversation. An _important_ conversation. Reluctantly, he forces her away a second time. 

"I'm serious. We gotta talk about this." 

"We will," she agrees, but she's already coming closer, and he has to use a little more force to hold her back by her shoulders. She sighs (He taught her that sigh and it's times like these when he wishes he hadn't) when she realizes she's not going to get what she wants. "Stiles." She says his name like it's a warning. "I don't want to talk about this now." 

"Well, _**I**_ don't want you giving birth to our pup in a box under the stairs." It's become another one of his biggest fears to add to the list that won't stop growing. Because she's so adamant about not giving birth in the hospital, and he has a feeling this means she plans to have their pup at home - or even worse, in the woods. And Stiles very much believes in doctors. And hospitals. And drugs. _Lots_ of drugs. 

She grows a little more relaxed beneath his touch, but she's staring at him now as if he just suggested they start looking for a cardboard box to serve as their own modern-day manger. "I don't want that either." 

"Then let's stop saying the pup's not going to be born in a hospital." The pup is not going to be born anywhere for months still, but if she's already talked about this more than once, he has a feeling this idea of having the pup somewhere unconventional is already firmly planted in her mind. Which means he needs all the time he can get to persuade her that hospitals and doctors and modern medicine are all good things. And safe things. And much less likely to push him into a full-blown panic attack than the idea of her having a baby in his bed.

She's silent for two seconds too long again. "We'll talk about it later." Unfortunately, at some point, she learned that he's weak. He's _really_ weak. So when he opens his mouth to protest, all that comes out is a sharp gasp when she traces his finger down the seam of the front of his pants before starting to undo his belt. And later is suddenly something he can live with. In fact, later sounds like one of her best ideas ever. Or at least, it's right up there with her decision to move his hand from her shoulder to her still swollen breast, as if he needed another incentive to wait until later to have this conversation. 

Her sweater ends up on the floor, followed by her shirt, and now he's working on her tank, the fabric pulled up over the taut skin of her abdomen while both of his hands take advantage of the other curves she's gained, thanks to this whole pup thing. In the meantime, her soft perfect hand has made it down the front of his boxers because any more, she's twice as ready as he is when she starts and her patience is in short supply. So she likes to catch him up to speed as quickly as possible. And if it weren't for the gift of her super sensitive hearing, neither of them would ever hear the front door. 

Stiles will be the first person to confirm that Malia is _all_ girl most of the time now, but there are moments like right now when there's no denying that she's still very much an animal. He feels like he can almost see her ears stand up when she pulls away abruptly, eyes wide. He goes to ask her if she's okay, but she claps her hand over his mouth before he ever has the chance. Because he'd like to say this is the first time something like this has happened, but she's learned the hard way before now that there are certain things his dad should never have to see. _Several_ times. And as soon as he hears those familiar footsteps, his own eyes are wide enough to match hers. As far as he knew, his dad was working until much later that night, but now he's definitely here. In the house. Heading their way. 

Stiles seriously can't catch a break. 

He sits up a little too fast and his forehead collides with hers, so then he's trying to whisper a string of apologies while also sorting through the mess of clothes to hand her back her own and pull on his shirt - all with the hand not pressed to her forehead. But despite his best efforts, when he straightens up with his shirt in his hand and his khakis still undone, trying in vain to adjust himself and hide his own arousal, his dad is standing in the kitchen with a clear view right to where he's standing. His efforts are quickly forgotten as he instead drops the hand holding his shirt to act as a shield. "Heyyy Dad. We were just - just -" 

"I forgot something in the car," he says with all of the calm Stiles never expected. "When I get back, everyone better have their clothes on." 

Stiles stays frozen there until he hears the sound of the front door opening and closing again, and then it's a mad dash to get the hell out of there before his dad has the chance to start in on a lecture. "We're getting out of here before he kills me," he tells her as he once again tries to hide his still obvious erection, eyes glued to the doorway. Because embarrassment has never been his forte, he chooses to be annoyed instead as he pulls his shirt roughly back on. "What can he really do anyways? You're already pregnant. So what if we -" 

" _Stiles_." He freezes again at the sound of her voice. Because there's something off. She's not trying to stop his rant, and she's not just flustered after his dad found the two of them on the couch with her hand down his pants. He finally looks back at her, finding her clothes ignored beside her, her shoulders hunched in a way that he recognizes. 

"What's wrong?" he asks as he moves closer, his disheveled state no longer a concern. Not when she lifts her head to reveal blue eyes and familiar fangs. "Whoa. Okay, it's okay." He sits down on the edge of the coffee table, trying to maintain some kind of distance. This is seriously so not his night; he will spend the next few days trying to figure out what he did this time to deserve this. But for now, she becomes his focus. She's had this shifting thing under control for a few weeks now, but all of her shifts have been off since this whole thing started. First, she wasn't shifting, then she was shifting out of control; now, she has a little less control during full moons and her emotions can set off a shift. Kind of like this one right now. 

"Just try to take deep breaths." She seems like she's on the verge of hyperventilating as she's caught somewhere between human and animal, and her claws are drawing blood from the palms of her hands already. And then there's the front door again, her heightened sense of hearing catching it again as her head whips around and she growls in that general direction. "Hey, Dad?" he calls when he hears those footsteps a second time. "I'd stay there if I were you." He can hear his dad starting to protest, and he wants to shout back that it's not his fault things have gotten so _shifty_. But he'd rather just make them less shifty as quickly as possible. 

Stiles doesn't notice when his dad's voice stops because he's taking her wrist so she'll lash out at him and stop digging her claws into her own palm. They get his wrist instead, but it's not enough to stop him as he catches her second wrist when she tries to claw his hand away. "You're okay. I'm right here. It's just me." His voice stays even, even though he can feel the way his heart races. After these past few months, there's no way he couldn't be used to her shifting by now, but there's still that fear. That very real fear that his words or his touch won't be enough to keep her anchored. 

Tonight, however, is not that night. 

He can physically feel it the second she's back in control. Her hands go limp in his own, her shoulders falling even further like she's melting right before his eyes. Compared to the battles they've fought recently, this isn't even a tiff, but it's still enough to leave her looking exhausted. "You okay?" he asks her when she finally looks up at him, all human. 

She nods, her entire body shaking with the deep breath she takes. "I don't know why I'm like this." 

He leans forward, wanting her closer now that the threat of her turning is gone. "I think it's normal," he concedes as he rests a hand against the bump that houses their pup for now. "You've been a little more shifty lately. Maybe it’s because you got yourself so worked up. Or maybe you have Scott Syndrome and everything is a threat now.” He scoffs as he says it, but it’s really more of a half joke than a true joke. She doesn’t even smile. “You sure you’re okay?” 

This time, she nods, then stops and shakes her head. “I feel sick.” This isn’t really news either. It’s like she has a harder time adjusting to one form or the other now; mostly, the shifting makes her throw up. 

“Okay. Then let’s get out of here,” he says as he stands back up, picking up her shirt and helping her to put it back on. In the process, his eyes meet his dad’s where he’s still just standing in the doorway. He gives him a nod and then looks away as quickly as possible. “We're going, I swear," he says without making eye contact, pulling his shirt back on. His dad's already seen more than enough for one night; really, his dad's already seen more than enough for the rest of forever. Right now, he'd really just like to get out of there, preferably without another incident.

But it's like his dad doesn't even hear what he says. "Everything okay?" he asks instead, and Stiles dies another handful of deaths when he realizes he's going to have to acknowledge the fact that his dad is there again. Watching the two of them. Knowing exactly what he walked into the middle of. 

"Yeah." He keeps his eyes on Malia as he holds her sweater while she slides her arms in. Every movement she makes is just a little hesitant,like she's afraid she'll set herself off again. "She started to shift, but we're good now. Right?" She nods in agreement without changing her mind this time. 

They're just about to escape - _finally_ \- when he walks past his dad and feels his hand on his shoulder. Stiles groans inwardly as he turns back around to face him. And when his dad says he wants to talk, there's an argument already leaving his mouth. "Dad, I get it - couch is off limits - but in my defense, it's not like she's going to get any more pregnant than she already is." 

"Thin line, Stiles. You're walking on one," his dad says, looking way more stern and terrifying than he did thirty seconds ago. But it turns out his dad just wanted to make sure that she's okay, and Stiles realizes just how often he forgets no one else is quite so used to this shifting thing they've been dealing with for weeks now. So he reassures him that everything's fine, that she gets stressed about doctor's appointments and doing things wrong, and that this is what stress leads to now that there's a pup. His eyes keep darting to the stairs as he talks until his dad finally tells him he can just go with a pat on the back. But he's just made it to the stairs when he hears his dad's voice again. 

"You know, you're doing a good job, kid. You take good care of her." 

Stiles barely says thanks before he's heading back up the stairs to check on her. But his dad's words, like Lydia's, stick with him, playing through his mind as he lays with her that night, her soft arms wrapped around his waist. There are a lot of things he's screwed up, he knows that. But he'd really like to do this one thing right. It's nice to know he's still on the right track. 

\----  
For a few days, Stiles reeks of shame and, even though she's not quite as embarrassed, she can't look his dad in the eye because each time she sees him, she feels that anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach. But they move on. Stiles insists on locking the door - and checking it three times - but eventually, that afternoon is forgotten, and in it's place, she can't stop thinking about her mom. 

It's hard to know that they're so close now, but they're still kind of stuck. She keeps the blanket they took from the house she should have grown up in folded and tucked safely away in one of her drawers in the guestroom, and Scott insists they'll be able to use that scent, but they haven't tried yet. Stiles keeps promising her that they will, soon, _really_ soon, he swears, but they have classes and doctor's appointments and Allison has some kind of internship, so Scott is going to her most weekends instead of her coming home (Which means that a lot of weekends, she and Stiles are going to Berkley, too, because Lydia says Stiles has an even harder time with long-distance relationships involving Scott than Allison does). In the meantime, they've filled half of his board with everything they know and every theory Scott and Stiles have come up with about her mom (She's not as good with theories yet), and the little stuffed dog she used to carry everywhere sits on the nightstand on her side of the bed. 

Tonight, when she wakes up in the middle of the night, it ends up in her hands as she turns it over and over again, wishing there was another memory there or something written on the little tag or something. She knows they have the blanket and they have the photo. Stiles keeps trying to search the name that's on her birth certificate. Both of the boys have carefully laid out a plan for trying to track her down. But three years ago, they thought they were on the right path, too, and it all fell apart. Back then, though, she wanted to know more about her family and where she came from; Peter had just been locked up, and she hadn't had any contact with her adoptive father since she moved into the guestroom at the Stilinskis’. She just wanted some connection to her own family, the family that understood who she was and why it was hard for her to understand what a friend was or why clothes were a necessity or when it was appropriate to kiss Stiles. But now, it's about a lot more than that. It's about finding her _mom_. 

Setting the dog down, her hand comes to rest against her middle as she turns back onto her side, facing Stiles's back. She should be sleeping now, too, because even though she's not nauseous or shifting much at all, she's still more tired than she used to be. So she fell asleep long before Stiles did, and now she's awake in the middle of the night when she does most of her thinking about her mom. Because it's the one time when it's just her and the pup. Sometimes, she'll lay there forever, just listening to the way her tiny little heart beats so much faster than hers or Stiles. Sometimes, she'll run her fingers over the taut skin of her abdomen as she thinks about the tiny little girl growing inside of her, about what she'll look like and feel like and smell like when she finally holds her in her arms. And sometimes, like tonight, she finds her eyes drifting to the board and the little stuffed dog while she thinks about how little she knows about pups and what it means to be a mother. 

She _needs_ to find her mother this time. 

And this is exactly what she hasn't found the words to tell him yet. She wants him to know that she doesn't want to wait another week to try to track down her mother, and she wants him to know that she doesn't want to give up this time, no matter how long it takes or how far they have to go. And she wants him to know that even though this pup feels like one of the most natural things she's ever done, there are still times when he starts talking about once the pup is here, and she realizes that she really doesn't know what it'll be like when the pup is here. But she's still trying to find the right words to make him understand that she needs her mother now, more than he probably knows. 

It's those thoughts she's trying to put into words, words that she'll really tell him first thing in the morning this time, when she feels it. It's so soft and foreign, she doesn't really notice it until the second time it happens. When there's a tiny flutter beneath her hand, her shirt, her skin. And even though she's never felt it before, somehow, she just knows: that's the pup. That gentle little nudge she feels a third time is their baby, and she can't help but feel a little amazed. Because she can hear her heart and she can sense her presence and she can see her there on Stiles's board in the image from the ultrasound she had weeks ago. But now, she's big enough to feel. She's big enough to move beneath Malia's skin and let Malia know _she's really there._

She lays there for another minute, then two. Ten minutes later, she's felt that little flutter a handful more times, and she's leaning closer to Stiles with the purpose of waking him up before she's even really decided that's what she's going to do. But he's reminded her more than once now that he needs to know everything about the pup - _everything_. And this is important. 

"Stiles," she says as she leans close enough to press her chin against his shoulder. In response, he gives soft moan, showing that he hears her, but he's not awake enough to do anything about that. "Stiles," she tries again a little louder, and at least this time, he rolls over onto his back while he mumbles something else that's incoherent. "Siles, wake _up_." 

The third time's the charm as his eyes open, tired and squinting in the bring light of the moon that fills his room. "What?" he asks, words still heaving with sleep. And then, he must realize that it's the middle of the night and she's wide awake and this isn't exactly normal because he's suddenly much more awake as he sits up so fast, she has to pull away. "Oh my god. What happened?" 

“Nothing. I just -” 

“Why are you awake?” 

“I couldn’t sleep. But Stiles -” 

“Are you shifting? Does something hurt?” 

“No, I’m -” 

“Are you sure? You’re fine? Pup’s fine?” One of his hands grips her shoulder tightly while his other hand rests against her bump. 

“ _Stiles_.” Something about the way she says his name this time makes him stop. She shrugs off the hand on her shoulder with a sigh as she sits up. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Then why are you awake?” 

“I already _told_ you. I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Then why am _**I**_ awake?” 

“Because you said no more secrets.” 

With a groan, he falls back against the bed, closing his eyes and pressing his hand to his chest. He’s breathing hard, almost as hard as he does when he tries to keep up with her running. And now, she starts to wonder if he’s so worried about her because there’s something wrong with him. “Stiles?” She says his name as a question, but he doesn’t respond. “Are _you_ okay?” 

“Fine. Just give me a minute.” 

“Then why are you breathing like that?” 

“I’m waiting for the heart palpitations to stop.” 

“The what?” 

“Nevermind,” he says with a sigh as he finally opens his eyes. Beneath her hand, she feels that tiny flutter, and the rush of excitement it brings with it has her opening her mouth, ready to finally tell him. Except he talks instead, stealing her chance. “Can we have a new rule? Like a rule where you only wake me up in the middle of the night if it’s an emergency?” 

“It’s not an emergency.” 

“I know. That’s why I think we need a rule.” 

They have a lot of rules. Most of them were made when she first moved in, but they’ve added more over the past few years, like the rule about secrets or the rule about clothes around the house or the rule about what it’s okay to discuss in front of his dad. Sometimes, the rules are for both of them, but there are times when she feels like the rule is just for her. This was one of those times. “I just got excited,” she says in way of an explanation. 

He lifts himself up on his elbow this time, really studying her before he talks. “Excited about what?” 

“She moved. The pup moved.” This time, his eyes are wider as he watches her, turning onto his side. 

“Are you serious?” 

She can’t hide her smile as she nods, both of her hands cradling that still small bump. “I can feel her moving.” 

“Right now?” She nods, and then he’s sitting up too, hesitating for a second or two before he presses his hand to a spot not covered by her own. She’s too small for him to feel, they realize quickly, but he still keeps his hand there as he asks her questions. Like what does it feel like? And is this the first time she’s felt it? And is she moving now? What about now? And she tries to describe how it feels, like little flutters or little flips or little nudges. And she tells him when she moves, small little movements beneath her skin before the pup grows still again. Almost an hour passes before either of them even realizes it; it's almost an hour she spends not thinking about her own mother or how daunting a task finding her might be. 

Eventually, she starts to feel tired again, and he keeps yawning even though he seems wide awake each time he asks her another question about what she's feeling. She lays with her front pressed to his back, trying to ignore the way it seems a little more difficult to keep her arms wrapped around him already. She's just starting to feel herself start to fall asleep when she hears his voice, soft and familiar. "Hey Mal? New rule: Always wake me up for stuff like that." 

She smiles to herself as she promises that she will. That she'll never let him miss out on anything with their pup.


	5. Fifth Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more quick note: A wonderful friend commissioned a piece of fanart for this story, and it was created by the very talented Anne (aeroplaneblues over on tumblr). I am absolutely in love with it, and you can see it for yourself right [ here](http://kellymarie22.tumblr.com/post/106236596066/the-lovely-prettytragicthings-commissioned-this)!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments, too. I really appreciate it! Enjoy! :)

She's counting her fingers. Once, twice, three times. Her fingers start to move a fourth time across her lap, and he realizes she can't stop. She's counting her fingers over and over and over again. 

She's counting her fingers just like him, and she can't stop. 

It starts out innocent enough. They both have a night class on Wednesdays (He decided to take one for the team when her latest Sociology class was only offered at one time), and he's barely settled in his seat when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out, expecting to see Scott's name because his best friend is supposed to be organizing their weekend trip right now, or his dad who is off tonight and most likely wherever Melissa McCall is, or maybe even Lydia who has been strangely intrigued by this whole pup business. But it's Malia's number instead, and he _laughs_ to himself when he sees it. He laughs as he tells his phone to ignore the call, knowing that she's been so easily distracted by the weekend ahead of them when they'll finally take that trip to try to track her mother's scent. _And_ he knows she has an exam tonight, which is still a source of anxiety for her, even if it's not a math class. Right now, she's probably sneaking out of her own class, calling to convince him to meet her at the Jeep so he can offer her a _distraction_ to her distraction. 

_Go back to class_ , he texts her with that same smile on his face. _Test now, sex later_. 

But he's barely hit send before his phone is ringing again, her number lighting up the screen. He ignores the call a second time, knowing that even though he feels like a pretty shitty boyfriend for doing it, he already screwed up, and now he has to teach her that they can't make excuses to get out of the things they don't like. Like lectures from his dad on why they should be figuring out where the baby’s going to be sleeping and doctor’s appointments and sociology tests. But at least he sends her another text, promising to reward her if she just finishes the exam she's supposed to be taking right now. It's when she calls a third time and the girl at the next table points out that he's vibrating that he finally gets up from his seat and takes his constantly ringing phone out to the hall. 

"C'mon, we talked about this," he says in way of greeting once he's a safe distance away from the lecture he's supposed to be sitting through. "You need to finish yo-" 

"I can't hear her. I keep trying, but I can't hear her." 

She cuts him off so suddenly and she's talking so fast, he's not even sure he hears her right at first. And really, he doesn't know exactly what she's talking about. But there's something about her tone, frantic and on edge in a way she hasn't been in a while - in more than a year - that makes him feel almost sick to his stomach. "Whoa, Mal. Slow down. Who? You can't hear who?"

“The pup. I can’t hear her heartbeat. Stiles, it’s just gone.” 

His mouth goes so dry, there’s no way he can respond, and his heart is suddenly lodged in the back of his throat. Now, he’s sure he’s going to be sick. 

“What do you mean it’s _gone_? Malia, where are you?” His voice sounds weird in his own ears, too calm compared to the marathon his heart is currently running in his chest. And then he almost misses it when she tells him that she's just outside because his mind is racing twice that fast. Because everything's been _fine_ \- she moves and she kicks, she measures just where she's supposed to be at every appointment, and her little heart is always strong and steady. Maybe he can't hear it whenever he wants, but he's heard it enough times to know that it's there, that it's loud, that it's _fine_. And Malia's been fine, too; at least since the shifting thing stopped, he's required more medical attention than her. So there has to be a misunderstanding. It can't just be _gone_. 

"Don't move. I'll be right there, okay?" He doesn't wait for her to respond before hanging up the phone. In four years, he's not sure he's seen her cry enough to know what her voice sounds like when she's that emotional, but he's willing to bet that's what it sounds like. He does the stairs in record time and jogs across the lobby. And then there she is, right outside the door, her eyes wild and filled with tears. As soon as she sees him, she seems twice as frantic, if that's even possible, and she closes the distance in half the time it would've taken him.

"I can't hear her," she says again as soon as she's close enough for him to actually see the lines her drying tears have left on her cheeks. "Why can't I hear her?" 

"I don't know, but we'll figure it out, okay?" His hands are on her upper arms, rubbing them up and down, more to calm him down than it is to really calm her. "Why were you trying to sense her? What happened?" 

He starts there because there has to be a reason. In his mind, there had to be something that made her think to listen for the baby, but she's already shaking her head. "Nothing. I was just bored. Stiles, we have to _do_ something." He knows that. God, he knows that. He wants nothing more than to do _something_ , but there's a huge question mark when it comes to _what_ that something should be. Especially because if she can't hear her heart beat... No, he can't think like that. 

He's definitely gonna be sick if he keeps thinking like that. 

"Is she moving?" he asks instead as his hand automatically moves to rest against what he’s started affectionately calling her pup bump. He’s desperate to find a loophole here. Some sign that she didn't notice, something to let them know the baby is just fine. Malia only shakes her head, though, a hiccup of a sob filling the silence. His chest tightens in response because he doesn't think he's ever seen her this shaken. Even when she was first learning to fit into this world, she wouldn't get herself this worked up over things. This really is as bad as it feels.

"Hey, it's okay.” He leans closer so he’s at eye level with her. "When's the last time she moved, Mal?"

She shakes her head frantically as she starts to cry again. "I don't know." 

"How do you not know?" On some level, he knows even as he says it that it's not the right thing to say and definitely not the right time to say it. But her frantic energy is rubbing off on him, making his heart race so hard and so fast, he starts to wonder if maybe this is what a heart attack feels like. And the pup is _inside_ her, always. How is it even possible for her to not know if she's been moving or not? 

Because _surely_ , it can't be that she doesn't know because it's been that long. 

There's something about her expression that makes him feel like he's waiting for her eyes to flash blue or her fangs to make an appearance as she growls. But none of the above happens, and that's how he realizes she's too scared out of her mind to react like she normally would. "It doesn't work like that," she argues instead. "I can't always feel her." 

"Okay, okay. What about when you heard her? When's the last time you heard her?" 

At first, she just shakes her head, and he notices that both of her hands are now pressed protectively over that bump he's just finally started to get used to. And then there's another wave of tears spilling down her cheeks. "I don't know," she insists again, and he can feel the way her shoulders shake beneath his hands, a warning before she finally falls apart there in front of him. "I don’t know, but something’s wrong. We have to _do_ something." It's like having to admit that a second time breaks something inside of her. He's never seen her cry much period, but he's _never_ seen her like this. His questions stop because she's crying too hard to talk as she completely unravels. Malia, who is always so stoic, who can separate her emotions from almost anything, is now sobbing loudly enough to draw the attention of people walking past. And that's how he knows that she gets this: there's only one reason why she wouldn't be able to hear her heartbeat. 

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.” His stomach threatens to rebel but he ignores that as he wraps his arm protectively around her shoulder. He can’t just keep standing there with her like an idiot, doing absolutely nothing while she finally breaks. He chooses not to think about the fact that it’s been days since she’s mentioned the pup moving to him. Or that it usually only means one thing when something no longer has a heartbeat. 

Even if she’s reacted in a way he’s never witnessed before, she’s still the same determined Malia, almost leading him to the Jeep instead of the other way around. His foot bounces wildly as he holds her door open, and it doesn’t stop once he’s in the car. Not even when he stops reaching for his phone to lean across the middle console and reach for her instead. Because once they call Melissa, they’ll be admitting defeat. And he’s not ready for that. 

He takes her face in his hands, and she immediately starts to fight him, shaking her head as her hands wrap tightly around his wrists. “ _Stiles_.”

“Let’s just try one more time, okay? Just try to concentrate on her.” 

"You don't _get_ it. Something's wrong. I can't find her. I'm trying, and I can't." It breaks his heart to see her like this, it really does, but they _can’t_ just give up. 

"I know, I know. But it’s so loud on campus," he argues back, glad that at least she hasn't forced his hands away yet. Hers are closed tightly around his wrists, but they're letting his wrists stay where they are for the moment. "Let's just try one last time to find her." She hesitates again, but with a silent huff, she finally closes her eyes. Once her breathing has grown a little more steady, he leans closer, pressing his lips against hers in a last-ditch effort to help her figure this out. Because they're almost halfway there now, and when she wears his shirt to bed at night, what used to be a tiny suggestion of a bump now fills out his shirt in a way she never used to. And he never realized when it happened, but he's gotten really used to the idea of the pup being there. Way more used to it than he ever thought he would. But when she pulls back, he can see it in her eyes before she even starts shaking her head. 

"I can't hear it," she says, and it sounds like an apology as a fresh wave of tears wells in her eyes. 

" _Fuck_." He says it without thinking, and it might just be in his head, but he's pretty sure she makes a noise that sounds a whole hell of a lot like a whimper as soon as he says it. "Hey, it's okay, Malia," he says again, reaching over to place his hand on her knee while his other hand roots through his pocket for his phone. "I'm going to call Melissa, okay?" 

He already ran through his options on the way to the car, and she seems like their best bet. As much as he may want his dad or Scott or even Lydia who could at least channel her inner banshee for them, Melissa's the only one with the medical background. She’s also aware of all of the little things that makes their pup different, so when she immediately answers by asking if everything's okay, he knows she understands when he tells her Malia can’t hear the pup. His voice sounds more frantic in his own ears now, and he steals a quick glance at Malia out of the corner of his eye. But she's curled up in the passenger seat, eyes shut, palms pressed against her middle, concentrating on something that's not there. "I don't know what to do," he admits before Melissa can get a word in. “We can’t just go to the emergency room and tell them her supernatural senses can’t hear our supernatural baby. ”And then it’s like it hits him all at once: Not only is this happening, there’s no way for him to get her the help she needs. Melissa is calm on the other end of the line when she starts asking questions, but Stiles finds he's fighting back tears as he supplies the same answers Malia gave him. They don't know, they don't know, _they don't know_. 

Melissa agrees to meet them in the ER, though, and Stiles is putting the Jeep in reverse before he's even finished thanking her and hanging up. And when he looks over at her, she’s counting her fingers. Once, twice, three times. Her fingers start to move a fourth time across her lap, and he realizes she can't stop. She's counting her fingers over and over and over again. She's counting her fingers just like him, and she can't stop. 

It's a habit he still has, one he can't quite shake from that much darker time when he wasn't quite himself. When he was first free of the nogitsune, he used to count his fingers to make sure that this was real, that he was really awake and there wasn't some parallel universe of wakefulness where that dark voice was still in the back of his mind, threatening to take over. She was too observant to not notice, and when she asked him why he counted, he explained it to her. But that was nearly four years ago, and he's never seen her count her fingers like this. 

He doesn't want to ever have to see her count her fingers like this. 

"Hey," he says gently as he reaches across the middle console to take her hand, keeping her from counting anymore. "It's gonna be okay." He's sure she can sense his lie, smell his panic on his skin. He's trying so hard to be the strong one here, but she probably sees right through this facade. And he doesn't know how to fix that. He can't mask his panic or his fear. He can't fool himself into thinking that he's not a bundle of tightly-wound nerves, seconds away from losing it. But it's not enough to make him give up that charade as he continues to promise her that it'll be okay, hoping that his heart doesn't race like it's a lie. 

Really, he just hopes a _whole damn lot_ that he's not telling her a lie. 

\----- 

Whenever she gets swept up in her emotions, she has a hard time remembering rules. It's one of those little reminders that even though she can blend in with her surroundings in most situations now, there was a time when she was an animal. When she gets angry, sometimes she growls. When she gets excited, sometimes she forgets that what Stiles calls _PDA_ isn't always appropriate in what he calls _mixed company_. When she gets frustrated, sometimes all she wants to do is run. 

Tonight, it's like she forgets everything she ever knew about being human. Fear is an emotion she doesn't experience very often, and when she does, she has a hard time deciding between fight or flight. This time, she chooses fight. Even though she snapped at Stiles, she keeps her eyes shut tight most of the drive to the hospital as she tries her hardest to concentrate: on Stiles's voice when he's telling her again that it'll be okay, on her own breathing that won't stay steady unless she really stops and thinks about it, on the pup that she _knows_ is still there. But each time, she still can't hear it. She doesn't even realize she's been vocal about her frustration with a whimper each time she fails until Stiles places his hand on her knee. "You gotta stop. You're gonna make yourself sick," he warns. But she _can't_ stop. She can’t give up because that would mean she had failed. And even though she’s failed at many things she’s tried since becoming human, she can’t fail at this. 

When he's not warning her against giving herself a migraine, he's asking her questions. Their arrival at the hospital isn't even enough to make his interrogation stop. "And nothing hurts?" he asks her for a fourth time as he meets her in front of the Jeep, taking her hand as they head towards the entrance to the ER. "You're sure?" 

"I feel fine." 

"And you're not bleeding?" 

"It's not me. It's _her_." 

"Can you sense that? Can you sense that something's wrong with her?" But she can't. And she's told him that. And when she tells him this time, it's enough to make her throat feel tight again. Tight like there's something choking her as her vision blurs with tears. She can't sense anything about the pup anymore, like there's just a void there where she should be - a tiny empty place she was just getting used to having filled. And there's this heavy feeling in her chest that makes her want to claw something to pieces, to rip apart whatever's responsible for doing this to their pup. 

It's that instinct to fight, even if she doesn't really understand what it is that they're fighting right now. 

Stiles takes the lead once they're inside because the hospital is one of the places where she still feels the most inept. When they're stopped by a nurse, he pulls her close to his side. "We're looking for Melissa McCall," he explains as she watches his eyes dart back and forth down the hallway. The nurse starts to argue that Melissa isn't here, and that tightness in her throat grows until it feels hard to breathe, but Stiles is already cutting the nurse off. "We're meeting her here." 

"Stiles!" They both hear his name coming from somewhere behind them at almost the exact same time Stiles addresses the nurse. She knows it’s Melissa before she even turns around, but what she doesn’t expect to see is Stiles’s dad alongside her. There’s a comfort that comes with seeing him there until she realizes that the expression on both their faces is another one Stiles taught her to look for - worry. Melissa motions down the hall, asking the nurse where there’s an open exam room. Stiles doesn’t take her hand that time; he’s too busy biting the side of his thumb. 

Stiles is talking before the door’s even closed all the way, palm hitting his thigh in a constant rhythm. “ Do you know what’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with the baby?” 

“We’re going to try to figure that out.” Melissa sounds much calmer than she looks, but there’s still a knot in Malia’s stomach when Melissa tells her she can lay down and explains that they’ll do an ultrasound to check on the baby. And then the questions begin, and for the first time, Malia wants to choose flight instead. Because the questions start off easy enough, but there's too much going on in her head now. She can always separate her emotions from everything else, but tonight, it’s all just one tangled mess she can't pull apart. 

"So what happened?" When Melissa looks at her expectantly, waiting for an answer, she can feel more tears blurring her vision. Out of habit, she looks to Stiles instead. Because Stiles is the one who always has a plan, according to Scott, and Stiles is the one who thought to come to Melissa. And Stiles is so much better at being human than she'll ever be. 

"Nothing," he says for her as he finally steps away from where he's been standing right inside the door to stand closer to her instead. "Nothing happened. She just can't hear her anymore." 

"Do you remember the last time you heard her?" Malia shakes her head, biting the inside of her bottom lip to try to keep from crying again. She hates this feeling - she might hate it even more than the shifting thing - but it's like she can't stop. Kind of like the shifting. It's totally out of her control this time, and she doesn't like to ever feel out of control. "Okay, that's okay. Have you felt her move at all?" 

"Not today." 

"But you feel fine?" Stiles takes her hand and gives it a squeeze when Melissa asks this question; if he didn't, she would probably snap again because she's tired of everyone asking about her when they should be worried about the pup. Instead, she just nods. "Okay. Let's take a look at what's going on." 

When Malia realizes they're waiting on her, she starts to shake as she fights against that natural instinct to flee. She doesn't feel threatened by Melissa, but she feels like she's fallen prey to something. Like she's cornered, shaking and scared and unable to control this body that she was just starting to love more than ever before. And everything is worse because she can't even name her predator this time. Stiles eases his hand away from her own because she'll need both her hands to move her clothes away from her middle, but she still immediately looks to him, feeling even more desperate to just get out of there. But Stiles leans closer, moving his hands to her upper arms. "Hey, it's okay. It's gonna be okay. I'm right here," he tells her. With his voice right in her ear, she can feel herself start to relax. Relax enough to lift her shirt to rest right at the place where that bump begins. But her hands are shaking too hard to undo the button on her cutoffs and Stiles asks her if she needs help, she nods and moves her hands out of the way. 

It’s quiet in the room when Melissa finally starts, so quiet that Malia can tell both Stiles and his dad are holding their breath. Which makes her feel like she should be holding her breath, too. Unlike the last time, Melissa finds the pup right away, and Malia understands what's in front of her enough to recognize her little head, the dark line that Melissa has told them is already her little spine, the way one of her hands is right up against her face. Her chest feels even tighter as she watches her, and she doesn't think he notices, but Stiles took her hand again and now he’s squeezing it tightly. And she's so convinced there's something wrong, she doesn't even realize at first that the room is no longer silent. 

That it's the sound of her heartbeat filling the room. 

Melissa sighs, her shoulders slumping as she looks back at the two of them. "She's fine." And that's when Malia finally hears it. She still can't sense it on her own, but with the wand still pressed against her skin, she can hear her heartbeat the same way Stiles can, the same way Melissa and his dad can this time. The tightness leaves her chest and settles in her throat again instead. She doesn't try to fight the tears when they fill her eyes. 

Next to her, Stiles finally stops holding his breath. "Are you sure?" 

"She's absolutely fine," Melissa reassures them, smiling for the first time since they met her here. "Her heart rate is right where it should be, she's moving - she's even sucking her little thumb right now."

As she speaks, Melissa motions to different parts of the screen, where her little legs are still moving and her hand is obviously right by her little mouth. And even though she knows everything is okay now - she can see for herself that the pup is really as fine as Melissa is telling them - her tears come faster. She knows what relief is, but this feels like more than that. Like it's all still too much for her to process or feel or think about all at once. Like it's all just _too much_. 

But she's not alone in that feeling. When Malia finally looks away from the pup long enough to look at Stiles, he's running his arm quickly over his face to wipe away tears. It's not the first time she's seen him crying; he would get emotional sometimes when he talked about what the nogitsune had forced him to do right after it left, and she knows that he cried about the pup or her shifting or something like that when he talked to his dad. But it's never been like this before; she's never been able to see his emotion on his face and connect it to the one she feels so strongly in her own chest. He never has a chance to say anything at all before she takes his face in her hands and kisses him long and hard. It’s the comfort she always seeks, so it’s the comfort she offers him now. And it seems to be just what he needs when he kisses her back and pulls her sidetightly against him, the hand that was squeezing hers just a second ago now coming to rest against the side of her bump. And finally, she can feel herself starting to calm down. 

He keeps his arm around her shoulders like that for a long time while Melissa keeps the baby on the screen, pointing out each time she moves and telling them that she's definitely a girl (even though neither of them really needed that confirmation). Stiles keeps asking if she's okay, if she's sure this is just a fluke, if she's worried something could still happen to the pup, but Melissa keeps saying that she's okay. She's fine. _They're so lucky_. 

And for a while, Malia feels better. Like she won this fight, like she got away this time. But that feeling that there's a threat lurking somewhere close doesn't go away. It's there in the back of her mind, making her feel like she should have her claws out or her hearing focused on something other than the little heartbeat they were so convinced was gone. It takes her a few minutes to figure it out, and once she does, she pulls away from him so quickly, his expression shows that she scared him. 

"What's wrong?" he asks before she can say anything, one hand still against her middle and the other hand still against her shoulder. 

"I still can't hear her. Why can't I hear her?" 

\----- 

By the time Melissa is talking to them about monitoring the baby for a little while before the leave - _just to give you guys peace of mind_ \- Stiles is so done with all of this supernatural stuff. In fact, Melissa's one suggestion to the two of them is that they try to depend on it a little less now, and he can't agree more. 

Because this all started when she couldn't shift. She should've been forced to turn in the middle of the month and she didn't, and they knew something was up. And then she couldn't stop shifting. And for weeks, he lived in fear that she would shift when he wasn't there or the sedative wouldn't work. Then, as time went on, it became this fear that the drug that became her crutch wasn't good for her or the pup, and what if they were just making it worse in the end? And now this. If she wasn’t a werecoyote and their baby wasn’t a pup, tonight would’ve just been normal. They would still be in class; he’d probably be texting Scott under the table and regretting it later when he realized he retained about zero percent of tonight’s lecture. She’d still be focused on the test, most likely the last one to leave the room because she’s gotten into this habit of checking and rechecking her answers ever since she finally grasped the concept of what a grade _means_. But instead, her heightened sense of hearing failed them tonight and sent them into this tailspin that was completely avoidable. 

So, yes. He’d rather ignore the fact that his girlfriend and the baby she’s carrying are supernatural. Preferably, all this supernaturalness just go away. 

But that’s exactly what has her all upset now: something obviously changed if she went from being able to hear the pup to this radio silence. And even though there’s this tidal wave of relief that comes with hearing her heart and seeing her move her little legs, Malia is still upset because she can’t _hear_ her. 

Kind of like how he can’t stop thinking about the _what ifs_. 

Like, _what if Melissa didn’t find her little heartbeat_? And _what if everything wasn’t fine_? 

He needs to stop before he gets to the point where Melissa needs to bring him another paper bag. 

Instead of focusing on what could’ve gone wrong, he tries to reassure her that they’re going to call Scott as soon as they can, maybe Derek for the hell of it, and Deaton, too, if Scott and Derek don’t have any explanation for why her hearing isn’t what it used to be. He tries to get her to focus all of her energy on this news that the baby is just fine. Mostly, he tries to get her to stop crying, and he’s mostly successful; she calms down enough to be able to listen to Melissa when she tells the two of them that she’ll put Malia and the baby on a monitor for a little while before they leave, just so they can all rest assured that it’s not just a fluke that she’s fine right now. 

Melissa's in the middle of hooking Malia up to said monitor when Stiles hears his dad clear his throat over in the corner, and he remembers for the first time that his dad is there. He had forgotten that it was date night until he saw his dad just a few steps behind Melissa when they arrived that night, but he doesn't think he'll ever forget the look on his dad's face - like he knew something they didn't know. Like the worst had happened. Kind of like the way Stiles had felt. Now, though, his dad just looks incredibly uncomfortable and incredibly out of place as he rubs at the back of his neck. And, for the first time, too, Stiles is aware of the haphazard way Malia's clothes were moved out of the way - and her state of semi-undress. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why his dad looks a little flustered. Or why he tells them he thinks he'll _give them a minute_. 

Stiles gives a quick nod to acknowledge the fact that he heard him, but Malia is totally and completely overwhelmed by what Melissa is doing, so he's a little distracted. Okay, so more like _a lot_ distracted. So it's not until his dad has stepped out of the room and Malia's started to calm down that he realizes he should've said something. He waits until Melissa finishes explaining every step of what she's about to do before he cups Malia's cheek, finally gaining her attention. "You okay if I leave you with Melissa for a minute?" He looks between the two of them as he asks the question because Melissa has been seriously awesome with Malia through all of this, but he still wants to make sure that she understands that Malia needs her to be a comfort more than she needs her to be a nurse right now. Malia's eyes are wide with panic, as if to prove his point, and he feels guilty even as he starts to ease his hand away from her own. "I'll be right back, I promise." When she nods, he kisses the middle of her forehead and leaves before he can start to feel anymore guilty. 

His dad is just a little ways down the hall, standing against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. He doesn't look up at the sound of the door opening or closing, but he looks up at the sound of his name. "Hey, Dad? You know you don't have to stay." 

Because he doesn't. Because it's comforting to have him around, and Stiles kind of wonders if he would've totally lost it if his dad wasn't there, even though he didn't say or do much of anything. But Stiles should be able to handle this. He _wants_ to be able to handle it this. But it's like he never said anything. Instead of responding, his dad moves away from the wall. "Come here, kid," he says as he motions towards Stiles. His voice sounds as heavy as Stiles feels. And in the silence that follows, Stiles realizes this is the invitation he's been waiting for. He's been on the verge of a panic attack since he heard her voice over the phone, he's wanted to sit down and put his head between his legs since Melissa told them to meet her at the hospital because it's _the hospital_. But he was the one with the plan instead. He was the one who called Melissa and ignored the worry reflected back at him on his dad's face and helped Malia stay still enough for Melissa to do her job. Now, though, he's pretty sure he pulls his dad in even tighter than his dad holds him. 

"She's okay, right? She's really okay?" 

"She's fine, Stiles. Both of them are fine." His dad sounds 150 times more sure than Stiles feels, and it's enough to make him let go of the breath he was still holding - _and_ blur his vision. His dad must notice the way his whole body shudders when he takes a deep breath or the way he turns his head to wipe away those few tears with the crook of his elbow because he somehow manages to hold him a little tighter. It's a combination of his dad's embrace and his reassurance, but those stupid tears that Stiles was so sure he could hold back spill down his cheeks instead. When he tries to talk again around the lump in the back of his throat. 

"But Malia was so scared. And I didn't know what to do." Admitting to that is what finally breaks him, he thinks, because who is he fooling about being able to handle this when he's telling his dad he was clueless when she needed him the most? It's an all-out sob that follows his confession, but he's too tired of trying to hold himself together to even feel embarrassed. 

"I know, but you did the right thing. You called Melissa. You got her here. You did really good tonight, kid."

"But the baby - She's just so - " He stops talking because he can feel himself working up to another sob, but he also doesn't know how to finish that. Because she's just so many things: small, real, _theirs_. She felt more real than she's ever felt tonight when he let himself think about how this could potentially end, and that was _before_ they watched her suck her thumb. Putting this into words is another matter. As he struggles to find the right ones, he realizes this is probably the closest he'll ever come to feeling like Malia still feels on a pretty regular basis. And like Malia has a habit of doing, when he finally settles on something to say, it's probably not the right thing. "She's just sucking her thumb." 

His dad gives a little laugh. "I know. She's pretty talented." 

"She's amazing." 

Even if he sounded like an idiot stating the obvious, his dad just _gets_ it. And Stiles suddenly feels dizzy as he realizes there probably isn't anyone else in his life who understands how he feels right now more than his dad does. It takes a few more minutes, but Stiles manages to catch his breath and he thinks his tears have stopped. He pulls away with the intent of wiping at the tear streaks on his face, but his dad keeps his hands on his shoulders. "Now you know what it feels like to be a parent," he says, and Stiles takes note of the matching tear stains on his dad's face. He also scoffs as he runs his sleeve across his face again.

"Well then, this whole parent thing really sucks," he declares as he feels the way his stomach threatens to rebel again at just the mention of that _p word_. 

His dad laughs again, the sound still just a little sad as he claps his hand on Stiles's back. "How about we have this conversation again when you're holding her for the first time?"

Stiles feels a little breathless at that suggestion. He still feels a little panicky whenever someone references the fact that this baby won't stay inside of Malia for forever. But this time, there's this immediate need there, like he can't hold her soon enough because then at least, they can't drive themselves crazy thinking her little heart stopped. The combination of the two feelings together make his knees feel a little weak. His stomach feels a little weaker. The smile he manages in response is probably weakest of all. Luckily, he doesn't have to try to say anything because the door just across the hall opens and Melissa appears in the doorway. She doesn't say a word, and she doesn't look anywhere near as worried as she did when she got there, but his stomach is still back in his throat. 

"Is she okay?" Even as he asks it, he's not sure who he's talking about, but Melissa smiles and nods before he even thinks to be more specific.

"Everybody's fine. I just wanted to let you know that we're a little more put together now, so if you want to come back in -"His dad is the one to thank Melissa because he's fighting to catch his breath again. 

"You okay?" his dad asks him as soon as it's just the two of them in the hall again. He wonders if his dad can actually hear his heart pounding in his chest as he shakes his head. 

"I think I'm gonna be sick.” Stiles has been fighting this nauseous feeling for over an hour now, and he thinks that brief moment of panic was the last straw. Definitely the last straw. 

His dad pats his back again. "Why don't you take a minute to calm down then? I'll go check on Malia." 

He owes his dad. He owes him _big time_ this time. First, he ruined date night and he and Malia managed to freak out both his dad and Melissa for no reason. Then he made him witness to his eventual breakdown. And now, he's leaving him alone with Malia who is probably not so thrilled about this hospital thing because she is _still_ insisting on having the pup in an alternative location that may or may not end up being a box under the stairs. But as much as he wants to find a way to make all of this up to him, Stiles's mind is on other things - like what could've happened tonight if Melissa never found that little heartbeat. With thoughts like that, he does make himself sick once he slips away to the bathroom, and he does need a minute or two in the hallway outside her door to pull himself together. He feels weak and stupid, but at the same time, he can count on one hand the times he’s ever felt as scared or as helpless as he has tonight.

And considering the life he's led, that's saying a lot. 

At least he feels better by the time he's opening the door to find his dad mid-conversation with Malia. "She is pretty cute," he catches his dad say from where he's seated in the chair beside her. Malia's lived with them for three years now, but there are still moments like right now when he's caught off guard by the relationship his dad has formed with his girlfriend. He doesn't even seem that awkward around her anymore. 

"Stiles says she has a big head." 

"Hey, I said she needed to grow into it," he says, letting them both know that he's there and defending himself because what's said in the privacy of his bedroom should really stay _in his bedroom_. His dad moves to get up, but Stiles stops him, moving to the other side and sitting down on the edge of the bed instead. "You better not be telling all my secrets while I'm not here." She reaches for his hand first, and he feels that tug at his heart that comes with knowing that she's looking for comfort right now. At least she's stopped crying, but her cheeks are still marked by her tears, and she looks small in that bed. Small and scared, like she's cornered - nothing like the Malia he knows. It's almost enough for him to rethink this whole hospital thing too. Almost. 

It's definitely enough for him to kiss her before he pulls back and tucks her hair behind her ear. "You okay?"

She nods without hesitation. "She's moving now." 

"Yeah?" She nods again as his hand moves to rest against her middle, and she moves it over to where she can actually feel the pup. It's become a habit of hers, even though the pup is still too small for him to feel. "Best news I've heard all night." He leans in to kiss her again while his thumb moves absentmindedly over the palm of her hand, feeling the raised marks left behind by her claws. 

Claws that never actually made an appearance tonight. 

It takes him a minute to realize that he never saw them during her panic, but the minute the thought crosses his mind, he pulls away from her. Flipping her hand over, he can see the four perfect half moons across the middle of her palm. When he takes her other hand, he finds a matching set. They're not fresh like they're battle wounds from tonight, but they also haven't healed much. They look like claw marks on him after they’ve been around for a week and some change. 

"Hey, Mal?" he asks gently, calmly - too calmly for the way his mind is already racing. "Are these from the last time you shifted?" It's not hard to pinpoint that date - He still feels like he may never forget her last shift when they were both semi-undressed when his dad walked in for the _second_ time. But by now, these should be gone. 

"I think so. Why?" 

"They never healed." She pulls her palms away in order to bring them closer to her face, studying them while the wheels in his own head begin to turn quickly. If she hasn't healed since the week before and now she can't hear the pup...

"Malia, can you shift right now?" 

She tries to make her claws appear... and nothing. She concentrates as hard as she can, kisses him even harder, but her eyes stay that same shade of deep brown. Her movements become more frantic as she begins to panic, but he's panicking right along with her, his knee bouncing faster the more time passes. Because they were so focused on the baby, they never stopped to realize the problem was really _her_. She can't hear the baby because she can't do _anything_. 

In all the time he's known her, she's never been more human. 

"Stiles, I can't shift. Why can't I shift?" she asks, even though her hand never stops moving as she keeps trying to make her claws appear in vain. There are tears in her eyes again when she looks up at him. "What's wrong with me?" 

He takes her hand in his again to keep her from continuing to try to force herself into a shift. "I don't know. But we're gonna figure it out," he promises her, his knee still bouncing furiously. 

Now, he really needs to call Scott.

\----

Scott is his hero. 

Seriously, he owes him this pup or his kidney or something at this point. Because when he calls his best friend to tell him that Malia's inner coyote is MIA, he doesn't even have to ask before Scott's volunteering to meet them at home. And then he's there sitting on the front steps when they pull in. Stiles wants to tell him everything in graphic detail because Scott's his _brother_ and even though he's already gotten sick once, not talking about what happened tonight is starting to make him nauseous again. But Malia's exhausted and still clinging to his side in a way that proves that even though her tears have stopped, she's still shaken up by everything that just happened. So they agree to talk it over in the morning when they're all more awake and less emotional. 

In the meantime, Scott takes the couch because whatever is keeping Malia one hundred percent human isn't affecting Scott, so he can still hear the pup for them until Malia's regained that ability. Maybe that's the kind of reassurance Malia needs, too, because she's asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow that night. Stiles, on the other hand, lays awake long enough to send Derek a text because there's always the chance that Scott is only still able to wolf out because he's the alpha. So he sends: _Malia can't shift... can you?_ And before Derek even has a chance to respond he follows it up with: _You think it’s because I knocked her up?_ After that second text, Stiles's phone is ringing because apparently, Derek Hale is above texts now. He skips over any kind of greeting and instead goes straight to _what's wrong with Malia?_ So Stiles recaps the two and a half hours they spent in the ER and explains more than once to an uncharacteristically semi-frantic Derek that there really never was a problem with the pup. Derek wants them to call Deaton and he wants to talk to Malia and he wants to help them figure this out, but they'll wait till the morning for that, too. 

And after the panic and the tears and the second round of sheer panic and then capping the night off with the highlight reel just for Scott, Stiles is exhausted when he hangs up with Derek. And he's asleep before he can even start to think about how much worse off they could be right now. 

Lucky for him, those thoughts fill his dreams instead. And when he wakes up, he’s gasping for breath and sitting up so fast, it’s a miracle he doesn’t wake Malia in the process. It's also the middle of the freaking night, and there's a strong possibility he's suffering his second heart attack in the past twelve hours. He can't even remember the dream that woke him up, except that it was about Malia and the pup and it hit way too close to home. 

Yeah. There's _no_ way he's going back to sleep any time soon. 

It’s worse now that he’s awake and watching the way her hand has already settled to rest against the pup bump now that he’s not laying there. There were a few more tears after she realized she was all human, but she’s been calm since then. Still, even in her sleep, her whole frame shakes when she takes a deep breath, and he has this crazy-hard to ignore desire to pull her closer (even though that only ever sounds like a good idea until his arm is cramping underneath her and he has to wake her up in his efforts to pull it away). Instead, he settles for resting his hand beside hers, moving his thumb back and forth. Her middle is hard and firm beneath his hand, and it feels pretty damn permanent - way too permanent for anything to be able to happen. And he can't stop thinking about the pup sucking her little thumb like the pro she clearly already is. But then he also can't stop thinking about the fear in Malia's voice when he finally answered, in near hysterics instead of the playful whining he had been expecting. And then he just needs to check in with Scott - just for a minute - before he falls back asleep. 

He slips out of bed quietly enough for Malia to not even move a fraction of an inch in her sleep. He's even quieter on the stairs, avoiding altogether the one that squeaks, but Scott is too wide awake when he sits up on the couch to ever have really been asleep. "Hey, she's fine," he says as soon as Stiles is close enough to hear his best friend's hushed voice. "I can hear her loud and clear." 

"Good." Stiles sinks down on the loveseat with a sigh. At least Scott gets it - he never even bothered to ask what Stiles is doing down there in the middle of the night. It's probably the same reason Scott's wide awake right now. He's always taken this whole Alpha thing very seriously. 

"Go back to sleep, man. I told you I'd wake you if she gets quiet on us."

Stiles shakes his head as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands folded right in front of his mouth. "I can't sleep. I just keep thinking about everything." His foot starts to bounce as they sit there in silence for a minute, and then he tips his hands forward to bite the knuckle of his index finger. He's not sure if this is Scott's invitation to start telling the story of their evening, or if he just doesn't know what to say. Stiles pulls his hand away from his mouth when he looks over to Scott and finds his best friend watching him. "I've never seen her like that before, Scott. She doesn't cry about _anything_ . Tonight? She fucking lost it." 

"Did she think something was wrong? Is that why she was trying to hear her?" 

Stiles shakes his head as he finally unfolds his hands, running one through his hair instead. "I think she got freaked out about her test. And I think it's a comfort thing for her. Like hearing the baby calms her down. But then she couldn't hear her at all." His knee starts to bounce faster as he feels his stomach start to knot. Even just talking about all of it again makes him kind of want to puke. Or cry. Maybe both. He settles instead for continuing to talk because Scott's his brother and all of this is still sitting heavy in the middle of his chest and he just needs to get it off already. "I ignored her call twice, man. I thought she was trying to get out of the test, so I ignored her. _Twice_." 

"You didn't know." 

"Yeah, but I should've." Stiles doesn't even realize he's been thinking it till after he's said it out loud to Scott. But it's been on his mind a lot tonight. Malia can read his emotions sometimes before he's even walked into the room, and Scott can now sense whenever there's a threat to the pup in the area, but what can Stiles do? All he's done so far is call people who can fix the problems he can't and then hold hands. Tonight, he couldn't even do that right. But he's not looking for pity, and he definitely doesn't want anyone's sympathy. So he talks again before Scott can offer him any of the above. "What are your little Alpha Dad senses telling you? Everything good?" 

Scott's eyes widen as he leans forward on the couch, too. " _Dude_. I'm _not_ her dad." 

"C'mon, Scotty. You know what I mean. You can do that thing, you know, where you know when you've gotta protect her." He folds his hands, and they linger by his mouth again as he taps his thumb twice against his bottom lip. "So what about now? Feel like you gotta do any protecting?" 

Scott shakes his head without hesitation. "I told you. She sounds good." Good isn't exactly the word that Stiles wanted to hear. He was looking more for something like _She sounds the strongest she ever has, man, and there's no way anything bad could ever happen to her_. His face must show his need for something a little more convincing, or maybe his signature scent of Eau de Anxiety just went up a notch because Scott suddenly sits up a little straighter. "She sounds great, I swear. She sounds amazing." 

"She _is_ amazing." He's quiet as he rests his folded hands against his mouth again, knee still bouncing in a constant rhythm. "You know, she can already suck her thumb?" he asks, even though he already knows that Scott's pup knowledge is limited to only the things Stiles has told him. But this feels important - the fact that she's already enough of a person to be able to do something like suck her thumb. And he feels like his best friend needs to know. "I can't let anything bad happen to her. _We_ can't let anything bad happen to her." 

"We won't," Scott says with so much conviction, Stiles envies him for a half second. Because he just wants to be that sure that everything will be just fine. And he wants to rest easy with the knowledge that if something goes wrong, the pack can fix it. "She's gonna be fine, I promise." 

His knee bounces as he watches Scott, honestly not knowing how he sounds so confident all the time. But then again, Scott didn't have to watch Malia fall apart while she tried to tell him that his pup's heartbeat had disappeared. "Scott, I... I know this whole pup thing wasn't supposed to happen - at least not like this - but I want her." He swallows hard as the truth behind his words resonates a little too strongly before settling as a heavy knot in the pit of his stomach. "I _need_ her." 

"I know. We all do," Scott reassures him, finally bridging the distance between their two bodies to place a gentle hand on Stiles's still bouncing knee. "She's already a part of the pack." 

Hearing that the pup is already a part of the pack is comforting in a way that little else has been so far that night. There's safety in the pack, and there's a safety in their combined knowledge because the have still yet to find an obstacle they can't overcome. Take tonight for example. Scott's been awake here on the couch so that someone is constantly listening to the pup's little heartbeat, and Stiles is willing to bet that Derek isn't doing much sleeping either. In fact, he probably has Deaton up, too, or maybe Chris Argent, trying to find out if Malia's a human because she's pregnant or if there's something more sinister at play here. And he knows Scott called Allison because Lydia called Stiles to tell him that she hasn't sensed anything at all, but she promises she'll call if she does in the few days that still exist before she comes home for spring break (And Stiles feels grateful for Derek Hale for a rare moment in his life because it's thanks to him that Lydia's now _much_ better about sensing things _before_ there's a body.). Even Liam has been sent a text and has promised to let Scott know if he can't shift - and requested an update when they know what’s going on with Malia. _This_ is the family his pup is lucky enough to be joining - if they can keep her safe till she's here. 

He wants to gush about the pack and how lucky they are to have that safety net, but it's the middle of the night, and Stiles is starting to feel like he might cry if he starts to gush about anything. And he's already done enough crying tonight. "And you're her alpha," he says with a smirk instead, settling on the much safer territory of mercilessly teasing Scott. "Her Alpha Dad. You ready for that responsibility?" 

He claps a hand on Scott's shoulder, and his friend immediately shrugs it off. "Dude, no. _You're_ her dad. You need to stop - " 

They _both_ stop at the sound of the bottom stair creaking, their attention drawn to where Malia now stands at the foot of the stairs, eyes still clouded with sleep and still in one of his t-shirts with her own tiny shorts just barely peeking out below the hem. He can't help it, his heart starts to race a little when he sees her, and his throat goes a little dry. She's always been a pretty deep sleeper, and the pup has made her sleep like... well, like a pup. But after her reaction earlier tonight, he tries to convince himself that if she thought something was wrong, she wouldn't just be standing here. "Is everything okay?" he still asks, hands pressed to the couch so he can jump into action if she needs him to. But she nods, yawning as she finally walks into the room. 

"I woke up and you weren't there." 

"Sorry." His now slightly shaking hand goes to the back of his neck, needing to move something in the wake of that small wave of panic. "I came down to check on the pup. Scott says she's good." 

"I know," Malia tells him as she curls up on the couch beside him, her legs beneath her and her side pressed tightly against his own. In response, he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her a little closer and keeping his hand against her bump. "She's moving. She woke me up." 

"You should go back to sleep. I'll be up in a minute." Trust him, if he could fall back asleep right now, he never would've left his bed because he still feels like someone needs to wipe him up off the floor. And she broke down even harder than he did, so his eyes burn a little in sympathy when he thinks about how she's probably feeling right now. Also, he's tried really hard these last few months to not try to micromanage her life because he never wants to comment on the amount of sleep she's getting or the amount of water she's drinking and make her think that he doesn't think she can take care of their pup, but he thinks she could use some sleep right now. Especially if there is something wrong with her - outside of the fact that there's currently a tiny coyote growing inside of her. 

But she shakes her head because she's almost as stubborn as he is. And instead of giving him a reason, she turns her attention to Scott. "Do you know why I can't shift?" 

Stiles tries to argue that they can wait until the morning, but she comes pretty damn close to growling at him in response, so he stops trying. So he tells Scott and Malia about his phone call with Derek and about how the older wolf doesn't think Stiles and his inability to keep it in his pants are to blame. But beyond that, Derek has no clue. And Scott really doesn't either, he admits to Malia in not quite so many words. He looks at the unhealed marks on both of her palms, and he asks her to try a few different things in an effort to encourage a shift, but nothing works. When he asks if she knows the last time she shifted, Stiles scoffs because there was no way Scott was not finding out about their failed sexcapade and the way Stiles tried his best to be her anchor while also trying to convince his body there was definitely nothing in that moment to be that excited about. And it's only then that Stiles realizes just how long it's been since she's been able to shift, so who really knows what they're dealing with? 

Even though it was Malia who wanted to talk now and not wait till morning, Stiles doesn't miss the way she continues to yawn or the way she seems to be melting into the couch or him or maybe both. By the time they're starting to brainstorm possible causes, he has to force her to pick up first her tired head and then her tired body so that he can lay down on the couch and she can lay down with her head resting on his chest because his arm's starting to cramp beneath her weight and the awkward angle her neck is bent at can't be comfortable. He doesn't even have a chance to ask if she's more comfortable laying down with him before she's fallen asleep again, more exhausted than he's ever seen her before. 

His plan is to finish his conversation with Scott and then carry her back upstairs - okay, then ask _Scott_ to carry her back upstairs- hopefully without waking her. But one minute, Scott is running through a list of things they should try to investigate in the morning, and the next... Well, he has no clue what Scott is doing because he's fast asleep beside Malia on the couch. 

When he wakes up again, it's because Scott's voice sounds like it's right there in his ear, accompanied by a rough shake to his shoulder.

"Stiles! Hey, man - Stiles, wake up!" 

Stiles groans as he slowly opens one eye, ready to tell his best friend just where he can go while Stiles goes back to sleep. But then he realizes that's Scott's there, and he's in the living room, and Malia is using his chest as a pillow. And all of the events of the night before hit him. _Hard_.

What hits even harder is the worried expression on his best friend's face. 

Without thinking, Stiles sits up fast, and then his hands are doing a mad dash to steady Malia and lay back down just the way he was before she wakes up. "What happened?" he asks in a harsh whisper, his heart already racing just beneath her ear. 

"You gotta promise you won't freak out, " Scott responds, and he's not exactly inspiring relief. 

"Scott, _you're_ freaking me out. Just tell me what's going on."

"You gotta promise first." 

"Okay, okay. Just tell me what's wrong."

Scott sighs, and then he's quiet for almost a full minute. "This happened an hour ago." Finally, Scott pulls his hand up where Stiles can see. With a flick of his wrist, he knows Scott is trying to summon his claws, but nothing happens. 

And that fact hits him the hardest. Because if Scott can't shift, that leaves him in the same boat as Malia. Because if he can't shift, that means what Malia has is contagious or spreading or something. Because if he can't shift, there's no one to check on their pup. 

"You can't hear her," Stiles finally says, his throat dry and his heart racing. 

"Stiles, I can't do _anything_."

\-----

Malia might scream soon. Like Lydia. If Stiles and Derek and Scott all don't stop, she thinks she might have to scream like Lydia. And _then_ maybe they'll start listening to her. 

Because Stiles has asked her fifteen times if she's okay since she woke up, Scott has asked her three times, and Derek has asked her once. Stiles has also apologized five times on the way home for _you know, the whole vet thing_ , but she doesn't know what "you know, the whole vet thing" is. And she's sick of telling them that no, she's not really fine because she's still a human and now Scott is too and they have no idea why. 

They're treating her like _she's_ the pup, too. Scott and Stiles woke her up that morning coaxing her to get ready to go see Deaton without ever telling her that Scott's as human as Stiles is, as _she_ is. (They probably would've gotten away with it, too, if Stiles wasn't such an awful liar.) Then Stiles asked her if she needed help getting dressed, and Scott gave her the front seat in the Jeep when she's always taken the backseat. The only time they haven't been coddling her is when Stiles sits down hard and fast on the tiled floor of the clinic because none of them has slept much or eaten anything in the past 12 hours, and Deaton took blood from her _and_ Scott. But once he's no longer nogitsune-pale, they're back to treating her like she's going to break. 

She ends up spending a lot of time pointing out that Scott is the _alpha_ and _just as human as she is_ , so _that_ should be a bigger deal. 

She also ends up feeling a little fed up by the time they pull back into the driveway, so even though Stiles taught her a long time ago that wanting to get her door for her doesn't mean he thinks she can't do it for herself, this stubborn part of her is determined to open it for herself before he can jog around the car. But he still manages to make it around the Jeep in order to pull her door open the rest of the way at the same time Derek pulls in behind them. 

"What did Deaton say?" he asks when he's barely out of the car. Derek had wanted to meet them at the clinic, but then he had finally heard back from Cora and he had had to take her call instead. She's never met Cora before, but she's heard enough from Scott and Stiles to know that Derek's sister has never had a baby of her own, but she's been living with another pack in South America that has existed for generations. So if this had been pup related, she might have been able to offer them an answer. But according to Deaton, this has nothing to do with the pup. 

"Wolfsbane," Stiles says with a huff and as much disdain in his voice as there was panic in his voice the first time he repeated it after Deaton. 

" _Wolfsbane_?" Derek asks, sounding just like Stiles sounded before. "From where? From _what_?" And then, he turns to her like he just noticed she's right there, standing beside Stiles. "Are you okay?" 

"I can't shift or hear the pup or heal," she says, keeping her eyes on Stiles's face because he was the one to tell her that she has to stop answering this question by saying _no_. "But I feel fine." As soon as she finishes, Stiles nods, letting her know that her answer was a better one this time. 

"Deaton doesn't think it's dangerous," Scott adds after he comes around to their side of the car. "Whoever did this, he thinks they're just trying to keep us human." 

"But why?" 

That's the question that no one really has an answer to, but it's one they need to _find_ an answer to. As crazy as she feels because the boys are treating her like this, she feels even crazier every time she realizes she can't shift. It doesn't matter that there's no real reason for her to need to shift right now; she needs that choice there to feel sane. As soon as Derek realizes this conversation is going to last for a while, they all move inside to the living room. She takes a seat on the loveseat with her legs folded beneath her, and Scott's on the couch. But Derek doesn't sit at all, and Stiles can't stop pacing, his hand slapping against his thigh repeatedly. And then, just as suddenly as he started, he stops, eyes on Derek. 

"Hey, can you hear the baby?" 

"Yeah. The baby's fine. So you guys were in the ER last night?" He's looking at her, so Malia nods. Just as suddenly, he looks to Scott instead. "Were you there too?" 

Scott shakes his head. "I met them here." 

"Could it be on you? Is that even possible?" Derek's looking at her again, but it's Stiles who talks for her. 

"Deaton doesn't think so, which means it has to be something here. Which means we need to find where it is and figure out why it's here. Because if you haven't noticed, we're running out of werewolves here. And you're next, man." 

She hasn't even thought of that. Scott and Stiles talked enough on the way home for her to know that they think it's here in the house because Scott was fine until he came over, and now the same thing's happening to him. Which means that the same thing will happen to Derek if he's here long enough. And it scares her to think that Derek could be stuck in this human form, too, if they can't figure this out. 

"Yeah, I know," he concedes as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. When Stiles questions him, he explains that he's texting Lydia because she's always been good with figuring out the whole wolfsbane thing. When he texts Christ Argent then too, he lets Stiles know as he does. He looks back to her after he's pocketed the phone. "Okay, so when's the last time you shifted?" 

"A couple weeks ago," she says without hesitation because she's gone through these questions more than once now, and she knows her answers by heart. She holds out her palms this time without invitation. "That's when I got these and they haven't healed yet. I don't know when I heard the pup last." 

"Do you remember where you went that day?" 

"I had class in the morning, and then I had a doctor's appointment." 

"Did you see anyone there?" 

Before she has a chance to say anything, Stiles intervenes this time. "Who do you think she saw? You really think her OB is the one determined to keep her human?" 

"Anyone _else_ ," he specifies, and she wracks her brain, trying to remember if there was anyone out of place that day. But she doesn't remember anything, aside from the shifting. 

"I don't know," she admits, looking between all three guys assembled around her. She wants to help figure this out, but she can't remember any of the things anyone wants her to remember. 

"It's okay, Mal," Stiles reassures her as he paces close enough to give her hand a squeeze. "I don't remember either." 

"Who knows you're pregnant?" Derek asks next, and Stiles answers again before she has the chance. 

"The whole world." Even without her ability to sense his emotions, Malia knows him well enough to know he's annoyed. If he was still close enough, she'd reach out to take _his_ hand this time. Just to remind him that Derek is family. But he's already paced his way to the other side of the room. "C'mon, Derek. Look at her. It's not like we're trying to keep this a secret." Derek's jaw is set in a firm line, and Malia wishes he was closer, too, at least until Stiles stops pacing in the middle of the room, and he looks as pale as he did back in Deaton's exam room. "Shit," he finally says, gaining all of their collective attention. "Peter knows. We told Peter." 

She feels sick to her stomach just hearing his name. When she met Peter for the first time, she didn’t get why Stiles hated him so much. He didn’t look at her like she was something foreign like her teachers sometimes did, and he didn’t laugh at her when she asked questions everyone else knew the answer to. And he had offered to teach her more about the Hales, about being natural born, maybe even working with her so she could go back to a full shift. She _liked_ him at first. She liked him a lot. But then she found out he had only been using her the entire time, only interested in what she could do for him. The last time she saw him, he had made her skin crawl. 

“Yeah, but Stiles, he’s locked up. There’s no way he could’ve done this,” Scott says because he’s always the one to try to calm them down. 

“You really think he doesn’t have minions? Look at how he manipulated Kate. And Lydia. And _Malia_ ,” Stiles says, gesturing towards her. “Think about what he could do with people who actually _like_ him.” 

“Hey, let’s not jump to conclusions, okay?” Derek cuts in while pulling his phone back out of his pocket. “Lydia wants to know if there’s anything new in the house. Did anyone give you anything for the baby?” 

She shakes her head when he looks at her. Stiles, on the other hand, ignores the question altogether. “No one’s jumping anywhere. We all know what he’s capable of. He probably Shawshanked his cell to do his own dirty work.” 

“But what would Peter want with a baby?” Until Scott asks the question, it doesn’t dawn on her that the pup has anything to do with this. Hearing him mention Peter and the pup in the same sentence makes her wish she had her claws more than anything else. 

“It’s not about him wanting her, Scott. It’s about us not having her.” Stiles’s hand is shaking again by his side, and as she listens to him, she can feel her chest start to tighten until it starts to feel like she can't breathe. It feels the way Stiles always smells. "He _hates_ us; we all know that. And if you guys all can't shift, what's stopping him from taking the pup?" 

By the time Stiles finishes talking, she feels like there's a small animal clawing at her chest in a desperate attempt to get out. Since Melissa said the pup was fine last night, she's been the focus - at least, she was before it became her _and_ Scott. Because she can't shift and she can't heal if something goes wrong, and it's been a matter of hours, but she already feels trapped in this body. But she hasn't thought about what her newfound vulnerability could mean for the pup. Mostly, she's missed being able to hear her little heartbeat and being able to sense her tiny little being in a way that she can’t describe. And now, her hands are pressed tightly against her middle, and she wonders if this is what Stiles feels like right before a panic attack. 

She's tuned out the boys as they continue to debate this newest theory, so she doesn't realize she's interrupting them when she finally collects her thoughts enough to speak. "Stiles, we can't let him take the pup." 

Immediately, he's in front of her, kneeling down as he rests one hand on her knee and the other against the bump. "Whoa. Hey, no one's gonna take the pup." 

"But you just said - What if Peter's trying to take her away?" Her eyes are starting to burn with tears that are probably leftover from the night before. She doesn't think she's ever cried this much in two days. And when he moves his hand to brush her hair back behind her ear, they spill onto her cheeks. 

"Then we'll make sure we stop him. We're not going to let him take her, okay?" 

"But if something happens now, I can't protect her," she says in a rush, feeling that clawing in her chest grow a little faster and more insistent. “I can’t do _anything_ , Stiles.” 

“That’s why we have a pack,” Scott volunteers as he stands up from the couch and moves a little closer. She watches him wide-eyed, not saying anything as her breathing settles into the same pattern of gasps it was last night even though she’s not crying nearly that hard. “The pup’s a part of the pack, too. We’re gonna protect her.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time we took down Peter,” Derek adds as he joins their half circle, arms crossed over his chest. 

“See?” Stiles asks when she doesn’t say anything. “She’s gonna be fine, okay? And she won’t be here for months. We’ll figure it out way before then.” 

There is a comfort in knowing that at least the whole pack isn’t affected yet, and in knowing that the pack has their backs. She no longer feels overwhelmed by that paralyzing fear, but there are still tears coursing down her cheeks. “Okay,” she agrees with a nod, “but why am I crying like this?” 

Stiles is quiet as he bites his bottom lip. Since she woke up this morning, she’s been trying to name his expressions now that she can’t smell his emotions. And this is a face she knows, one that he’s made before when she’s asked questions about the pup. One that usually accompanies his signature scent of anxiety and nerves. “I, uh, I think this is normal with - you know, the pup.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Definitely.” As soon as he’s said it, he looks up at Scott and Derek instead of her. It takes them a minute, but then Scott and Derek are saying the same thing in a course of _yeahs_ and _of courses_. But Scott’s gaze is on his feet, and she thinks Derek’s cheeks might be a little pink. Before she can ask why they’re acting like that, though, Stiles is moving his hand from her knee to her cheek and stealing her attention in the process. “Plus, you look exhausted. The couch was a bad idea. Why don’t you lay down for a little while?” 

“But I’m fine.” She’s not helping her case when she stops gasping long enough to yawn. But she knows she won’t be able to sleep while she knows the three of them are down here trying to figure things out without her. “You’re exhausted, too. You should lay down.” 

“Trust me, I wish I could. But I can help Scott and Derek and then come up when we’re done. You can even give that little dog my half of the bed.” But then Stiles’s expression changes so quickly, she feels her heart speed up before he’s even said anything. “Shit. It’s not Peter.” 

“What?” Scott asks, but Stiles is already getting to his feet and heading towards the stairs. 

“It’s not Peter,” he calls over his shoulder. “It’s the dog. Tell Lydia she’s a genius.” 

He’s barely gone a minute. Malia is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs when he comes back because while Scott and Derek have no idea what Stiles is talking about, she already knows he went upstairs for the stuffed animal. As soon as he’s back, she grabs it from his hand, already knowing where to look. There’s a place on the underside of the dog where it’s been stitched closed. A lot of her stuffed animals looked like that; she would drag them everywhere and they sometimes became the rope for tug-of-war matches with her sister. But this one has been there for as long as she can remember, and it’s not jagged at all. It’s a perfect line, right down the middle of the dog. 

“We went to her house,” Stiles explains to Derek while she tries to use her short human nails to pull at the makeshift seam in the dog. “Just a couple days before her appointment, we went to her house and we took this.” 

When she rips the dog open (no longer caring about its sentimental value), it’s sitting right on top. A little pouch that has no purpose inside a children’s toy. She goes to grab it, but Stiles catches her wrist, sweeping his own hand in to take it out _just in case_. They’ll need Deaton’s confirmation, but it makes sense. More sense than Peter plotting to take a baby who won’t be here for weeks. 

“Is it for the baby?” Derek asks. 

She shakes her head, answering this time before Stiles can. “No. It was mine. It’s from my mom.” 

\----- 

A few days later, he cancels the pack field trip. She might never forgive him, but what other choice did he have? 

She's better with forgiveness, just like she's better with tolerating other people's emotions and considering her audience before she says what's on her mind. She forgives him when he climbs into bed after she's already asleep and wakes her in an attempt to steal the warmth on her side of the bed. And she forgives him when he accidentally falls back asleep while she's in the shower so she misses the first half of her 7:30 lab. And she forgives him when he can't stop obsessively checking in on her now, making sure that she's okay - physically and emotionally - while she's still mostly human. But taking this away from her is a much bigger offense. He could be in the doghouse for a while for this one. 

Like until that pup is born. So he should probably make himself comfortable. 

But Scott's senses are still a little dulled, and his shift's a little slow. And Malia, who lived with that dog right next to her side of the bed for weeks, isn't able to do much at all. And if Malia's mother was scary enough to take a girl brave enough to date Peter Hale and rip her to pieces, Stiles would rather wait until everyone can shift and heal. Scott agrees, too, and his vote counts for at least 100 because he's the alpha. There's a new urgency to find her mom now, like there was back when she was still shifting. They left the dog with Deaton (and Stiles made Malia sit through another exam - just to make sure the Wolfsbane that just left everyone else human hadn't done anything worse to the much smaller pup), but none of them have forgotten about it. And now, there's this allure, this unknown about her mom who was capable of taking out the competition but then left her daughter with a stuffed animal filled with Wolsfbane. But they still have to postpone - just for now. Of course, Stiles didn't _have_ to wait until the morning before they're supposed to leave to tell her that _surprise! We're not going_. 

She's been camped out in his room ever since, refusing to talk to him. He's tried offering copious amounts of sex, chocolate chip pancakes, and the rights to pick a name for Pup (because lately, she's been on this kick about the baby needing a name - He's willing to bet said pup on Lydia having something to do with this ), but she's remained unmoved by his best efforts. It was bad enough that he had to watch the way she fought to hold her bottom lip steady when he delivered the news that their plans for the weekend were off; being on opposite sides of this door is pure torture. But they all kind of foresaw this kind of reaction, so Allison suggested that she and Scott meet them for dinner. It would give her something to still look forward to - which she would've been able to do had he told her when the decision was made. 

The problem is, the jaws of life still couldn't get her out of his room by the time Scott and Allison are there. 

"Malia's not ready," he says in way of a greeting when he opens the front door. "She barricaded herself upstairs eight hours ago and hasn't been seen since." 

“ _Dude_. What’d you do?” Scott asks as Allison is already heading upstairs to give it a try. Stiles doesn’t even know where to start. _Knocked her up, waited to tell her we’re not going, cared too much about her safety and the pup’s_. 

“Nothing this time. I swear.” 

Allison’s barely been gone two minutes when the door upstairs clicks open and she succeeds in what Stiles has been trying to do _all freaking day_. Twenty minutes later, Allison's bounding back down the stairs with a slightly less enthusiastic Malia following in her wake. Her hair is up in a high ponytail that has Allison's handiwork written all over it, and Stiles would've thanked her for most likely letting Malia get in a good, long vent while she did her hair for her if Allison didn't open her mouth instead. "We're going pup shopping," she says as she wastes no time in taking Scott's hand or starting to lead him towards the door. 

He'd also like to enjoy the fact that almost the entire rest of the pack has adopted his awesome nickname at this point, but he's too busy staring at her retreating form. "We're doing _what_?" he asks, but even Malia's too busy pulling on her boots to acknowledge that he's even talking. "Do I get a say in this?" Allison has to hear him because she's at most two yards away, but she doesn't stop or turn back around. Scott shoots him what he thinks is meant to be a sympathetic look, but he's not sympathetic enough to make his "take-the-reins" girlfriend stop and turn around and participate in this freaking conversation. He's left having a conversation with himself as his best friend and his girlfriend continue out the door. "Doesn't the pup dad get to have a say? Don't I? So I guess this is a no... Huh? Okay, that's cool. That's cool, guys. Real cool." Done with her boots, Malia breezes past him. When he reaches out to take her hand and stop her, she turns around with eyes so wide, it's pretty obvious she never intended to stop. "Are you okay with this?" 

"Allison said it'd be a good distraction," she says in her Malia way of acknowledging that yes, she's okay with what they're doing. She pulls her hand away before he can ask another question. "And I'm still not talking to you." 

_That's_ when Stiles realizes it's going to be a long night. 

At least, halfway through dinner, Malia has given up on her plan to no longer talk to him because she's stubborn, but she's also a creature of habit. And when Allison starts asking over dinner about what they have for the baby and what they plan to get, Malia looks to him instead, instinctively moving a little closer to him on their side of the booth. But the truth is, they haven't talked about this _at all_. Because first, the idea was so new, they weren't really talking about it. And then she started shifting. And _then_ they started making progress with her mom. And then there was that moment of pure panic when they thought they might've lost the pup. And now is finally the time that they had to devote to figuring out what they needed for a pup - if it didn't freak him out so much. The thing is, he really has no idea what the pup will need once she's there, and if anything, Malia knows less than he does. Plus, once they have things for her, there will have to be a place to put those things, and then they'll have to sit down with his dad and really start making decisions. And that's just going to bring this whole thing to another level of real that he'd like to put off till like maybe when she's born. 

But within the hour, he finds himself surrounded by all things baby, and when Allison stops to show something to Malia, he and Scott end up somewhere else because he can't stop moving or he'll probably need to put his head down or start hyperventilating. Even when he stops in front of a row of car seats, his foot keeps bouncing and his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck at nearly regular intervals. 

"There's gonna be one of those in the Jeep," he declares because a part of him wonders if it might feel better if he just says it out loud. Answer: it feels worse. 

Scott stares at the one directly in front of him before he finally turns to look at Stiles. "What?" 

"A car seat," he clarifies with an over exaggerated gesture towards the wall in front of them. "In the Jeep. You with me, buddy?" 

"Yeah, sorry. Got distracted." 

It hasn't been quite long enough since their little scare (Really, it probably won't ever have been long enough.), so Stiles is immediately distracted, too. "It's not the pup, is it? You're not sensing anything?" 

"No, she's good." He shakes his head, like he's physically clearing away whatever's on his mind. "And she's gonna need a car seat. In the Jeep," he finishes with a smirk. 

"Yeah. In the Jeep. We can _totally_ put a car seat in the Jeep." Stiles has already had this conversation one too many times this week, so his frustration show a little bit. Or maybe a lot bit, judging from the way Scott's brows are furrowed so tightly together now. "My dad actually asked me if I was planning to put her in the Jeep. It was implied that he thinks it's a bad idea," he says in way of explanation. "But what does he think I'm gonna do? I'm so not getting a mom car." He's silent for a minute as he looks back to the car seats. "Derek has a mom car." 

"Why does he even have that car?" 

"Who knows. Maybe he's hiding cubs somewhere. I'm not getting a mom car," Stiles declares one more time before finally moving on from the car seats. There's too much wording on the tags and he really has no idea what it means. The pup thing's felt better lately, but now, he feels way too young for this. _Definitely_ too young for a mom car. He leads Scott down another aisle, this one filled with tiny clothes, and he stops in front of a section that's dripping in pink. This is another source of anxiety for him because he's found that he usually zeros in on some little thing and the size seems manageable, like he could live with something that small and probably not break it. And then he usually sees the tag, and realizes she won't even be that big by this time next year. Plus, there's a little onesie right in front of his right now that says _Daddy Loves Me_ , and thinking about who her daddy is still makes him feel like he needs to throw up. 

Teasing Scott becomes his coping mechanism. 

Picking it up, he studies it for a minute before holding it up to Scott and pointing to the spot just above where it says Daddy. "You think there's enough space here to add _Alpha_?" 

"Stiles. Stop." 

"C'mon, Scotty. It'll be perfect! We'll buy it and we'll write _Alpha_ in right there. Just for you." 

"Dude. Seriously. I'm _not_ her dad." 

"You need to embrace this." He gestures towards the onesie like it's already been altered to reflect what he considers to be their pup's unique parentage. To be honest, Stiles wasn't all for embracing Scott's newfound alpha senses when they first made an appearance. But now that they've lived through one scare, it's nice having someone who can sense when something really is threatening the baby. "This is like - like spidey senses, except pup senses. Who _doesn't_ want spidey senses?" 

"But it's not like that." Scott's hands are shoved in his pockets, and he's starting to look as anxious as Stiles feels. "Have you thought about this at all?"

Stiles sighs as he puts the onesie down, feeling like he has to move again. "Scott, you sound like my dad," he says as he leads the way back out of the aisle. "Of course I've thought about it. It's _all_ > I think about. But most of the time, I'm like five seconds away from another panic attack. If I don't make jokes, I'm gonna end up in a cell next to Peter's."

Scott puts a hand on his shoulder as soon as they're out of the aisle, keeping him from moving any further. "That's not what I mean. Like have you thought about how this is the first time we're gonna have a baby?"

Scott looks like _he_ might be on the verge of a panic attack right now and Stiles knows he really needs to stop with the jokes, but he can't help himself as he puts a hand to his chest in mock flattery. "Aw, Scott, man, that's so sweet. I had no idea you were so invested in our relationship."

"Stiles, I'm serious. It's the first time there's been a baby in the pack."

"Yeah, but she's a _baby_. We just have to make sure we keep her safe. It's not like she's gonna be shifting."

"But how do you know that?"

Stiles stops for a minute before he responds. Because he thinks he knows where Scott's headed and he knows already he's not going to like it. "Because. Malia didn't start shifting till she was nine. So we should have at least that long."

"But what if we don't?" Scott moves so he's standing directly in front of Stiles, arms crossed over his chest. If Stiles's heart wasn't starting to beat a little faster in his chest, he'd probably make a joke about whether or not Scott learned how to look this serious from Derek. "Stiles, she's already been shifting and I can already sense her. But it's more than that. It feels like I need to teach her, the same way it was with Liam. And I talked to Derek, too. All of the Hales were always able to shift. Malia's the only one who couldn't." 

"Scott..."

"So what if it was that dog? What if her mom did that on purpose? What if that's the only reason Malia didn't shift?" 

It's the kind of thinking Stiles would usually do. He'd be the one who would obsess over why there would ever be a need to put Wolfsbane in a stuffed animal. But he's been too busy reveling in the fact that Malia and the pup are just fine - human for the moment, but totally fine - to even think that most children aren't gifted toy dogs filled with Wolfsbane. And Malia said the dog went missing before the accident. And when she came back, she didn't shift at all till she was in Eichen House. Full moons were always spent at the lake house. He doesn't think she ever shifted at the house she grew up in - where the dog was. 

"Stiles, how're we gonna teach a _baby_ not to shift?"

Stiles has no idea. _Literally_ no idea. It's only been recently that he's started thinking about all of the things he doesn't know how to do - like change a diaper or make a bottle or even put a baby to bed. And how do you teach someone to talk? Or walk? Or feed herself? Or not bite other kids on the playground - even without fangs? These are enough to keep him awake at night without adding anything supernatural. He didn't even _think_ about the possibility of the baby shifting because he just assumed that they'd have time. Like years - lots and lots of years for him to learn all he could about what their pup was capable of _before_ she'd start shifting. But Scott makes a lot of a sense - too much sense, if you ask Stiles. And suddenly he's feeling really human - too human. 

Instead of feeling like he has to move after this revelation, he feels like his legs might give out. He sinks into one of the rocking chairs on display with a groan as his head goes down, resting somewhere in the neighborhood of his knees. "Holy shit," he mutters without ever lifting his head. 

"I know, man. I _know_." Scott's still right there, but Stiles still doesn't lift his head as he tries to focus on his breathing instead of his heart that's basically moving at a sprint. "Hey, Stiles?" Scott asks after he's moaned a second time. "Is this a panic attack?" 

"No," he says with another inward groan. "This is me trying not to puke." He's been doing _so well_ lately. Malia even made another comment just the day before about having the pup outside of a hospital, and he didn't even bat an eye (They're saving that conversation for a day when he's had plenty of time to prepare). But this is different. This is probably worthy of a panic attack. Instead, he finds a way to keep his breathing even as he finally lifts his head. "How are we gonna teach a baby not to shift?" 

"We've been looking everywhere for you guys." 

At the sound of Allison's voice, Scott and Stiles both look in her direction. There's several little pieces of clothing in her hands, and her smile is bright and wide - at least until she must notice their own expressions. "What's going on?" 

Malia, on the other hand, looks worried almost immediately, brushing past Allison to stand in front of Stiles instead. "What happened?" she asks him, her eyes flashing blue for a split second like she's ready to pounce on whoever or whatever has him so dazed. "Are you okay?" 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he promises. He sits up a little straighter and presses a hand against the pup bump because it's the closest part of her and he at least has to pretend to play the part of calm and collected. He’s worked too hard for too long to hold it together to make her think he can't handle this now. But her eyes are filled with a worry that looks foreign on her, and her hand grasps his a little too tightly when she puts it over his against her waist. And he knows he's gotta tell her. "So," he starts, fighting the urge to wince as he even just thinks about what has to follow that very weighted so. "I think we're having a pup." 

She's silent as she looks from him to Scott, then to Allison, and then back to Scott before finally giving him her full attention again. "I know," she says with way more conviction than he can summon when he's this close to feeling like he's about to pass out. "We _are_ having a pup." Her brows furrow together as she studies him for a minute before looking back at Scott again. "Is he really okay? Did something happen to him?" 

Allison steps a little closer to Scott and lowers her voice so that Stiles knows she thinks he can't hear when she asks, "Did he hit his head?" 

"Oh my god. I didn't hit my head," he sighs. "I'm fine. But the pup... We think she's a pup. Like a _real_ pup. Like shifting and claws and fangs... " 

"Stiles, she already shifts. Deaton told us she's going to shift." 

"Yeah. She already shifts," he says, giving her a minute to process that news, but she still just looks concerned - concerned about him. "Mal, we think she already knows how." 

"We think maybe it was the dog that kept you human for so long," Scott finally adds when Stiles is still having a hard time stringing together words that will finally make it clear to her. "So we think she might be... less human." 

Allison draws in a sharp breath. "You think the baby will be able to shift as soon as she's born." 

Stiles keeps Malia in his peripheral vision as he looks to Allison and gives her a nod to let her know that she's on the same page. The same awful page that Scott just had to bring up. But when Stiles looks back to Malia, he's shocked to find that there are tears welling in her eyes. So far, she's taken everything in stride. There were days when she couldn't sit up in bed without feeling like she was going to be sick, and he still complained more than she did. And she put up with the shifting thing for more than a month. But this news that their baby is just like hers is enough to bring her to tears. "Hey, it's okay," he says as he moves his hand that's not pinned between hers and the pup to rub her arm instead. "It's gonna be okay. We'll figure it out." 

But she's recovering from the Wolfsbane that knocked out her coyote senses, and she can probably smell his lie before he says a word. And she's too honest, at least now that they've outlawed secrets and lies and playing wolf. She's way too honest to not ask the question that's on all of their minds: "But what if we can't?" 

And right now, he has no answer for that. 

\----

Their first rule for having a pup becomes that there is no _can't_ , according to Stiles. She's not allowed to say it anymore, but that's okay because a week after Scott and Stiles started to think the pup might be as much of a pup as she'll ever be, Malia hasn't talked about it much at all. She doesn't _want_ to talk about it, and she thinks that the boys must have figured that out because they've all tried to talk about it with her now. Stiles tries, Scott tries - even Derek tries, and even Malia knows how rare it is for Derek to talk about feelings and emotions (it's one of the things that makes her feel the most like his cousin). But she doesn't want to have to talk about their pup's ability to shift, so she lets it all bottle up until she finally can't take it anymore. 

Said breaking point happens a week after their shopping trip. The next morning, they have the pup's anatomy scan, and Stiles keeps saying that it's to see if a tail is a part of her anatomy; She thinks it's supposed to be a joke, but it's not funny. Especially because after this ultrasound, he decided they have to tell his dad that the pup will most likely be born with the ability to shift. So, she needs a distraction, something to keep her mind off tails and shifting and how much of a pup the pup actually is. And when he starts on a paper, she takes the opposite side of the bed with the baby book Allison gave her months ago so that she could always know what was happening with her and pup. But after an hour of scouring the book, she's only frustrated. 

Frustrated enough to throw it just hard enough for it to land at the foot of the bed as she huffs. 

It makes a louder sound than she meant it to, and she can see the way Stiles jumps next to her at the sound. "Whoa," he says as she sighs, her eyes still narrowed at the book. "What's going on over there?" 

"I hate the book. It's stupid." She crosses her arms as Stiles sits up in order to retrieve the book from the foot of the bed. He glances at the cover before looking back at her, brows furrowed together. 

"I thought you liked the book." 

The short, simple answer is that yes, she liked the book. She _loved_ the book when Allison first gave it to her back when she was still shifting on a regular basis and she really didn't understand much about the pup and the changes taking place beyond the fact that it felt like the most normal thing she'd ever done. She would sit for hours then, highlighters at her side as she read about what the pup was doing now and a week from now and a month from now. But today, she's spent an hour with the book and learned absolutely nothing about what she needs to know about the pup. 

"No, I hate it," she insists again. When he only continues to watch her like she owes him more than an answer she sighs to herself. "There's nothing in it about pups." 

Stiles raises his eyebrows and bites his lip, and she can already sense his amusement. Like he still thinks this is funny, even though she would really like to tear the book apart with her claws. "That's because most people don't have pups. They just have babies." 

She huffs a second time as her head falls back against the headboard. "Why can't we just have a baby?" she asks, sounding almost as frustrated as she feels. But the question starts as a reflex and ends up feeling like it sucked her breath out with it, the force of that cold, hard truth leaving her throat feeling raw. It doesn't help that Stiles's expression has changed, too, so now he's looking at her like she's a wounded animal. 

"Malia..." His voice trails off as he keeps watching her like that. And his scent is now sad, almost like pity (another emotion she learned from Lydia), and for once in her life, she misses the usual signature scent of worry and anxiety. "Are you serious? But she's gonna be just like you."

"I know. But I want her to be like _you_." 

"She will be like me," he says as he scoots a little closer to her side and reaches out to put his hand on what she knows he now calls her pup bump. "My good looks, killer sarcasm, a mild to severe case of ADHD... Here's to hoping she sleeps like you, though." He wears a crooked smile, and she knows that he's making a joke, but she doesn't get it. 

"That's not what I mean - " 

"I know, I know. You're right, she won't be human - at least not all the time. But that's okay." 

"But it's _not_ ," she insists, feeling herself grow more frustrated when it starts to feel like he's just not listening to her - or worse, taking her seriously. And he's _still_ watching her like that, so she lets her own gaze fall to the pup bump, moving her hands to the top and the bottom of that swell like she's already trying to comfort the pup. "It's terrifying," she says when she finally speaks again, stealing a glance at him before looking away. "You don't know what it's like. But the first time I shifted was terrifying. I didn't know what was happening, and I couldn't control it, and it _hurt_." They both have parts of their past they don't like to talk about, and this is hers. But this is what's been weighing so heavily on her mind since Scott and Stiles figured out that the pup probably doesn't have nine years before she'll start shifting, and she needs him to understand that her fear goes beyond the struggle they could face trying to keep her human. "And after I shifted, all I wanted to do was hurt _them_." Her throat is tight around the last word, and she realizes too late that there are tears welling in her eyes - only after she's looked back up at Stiles and she can see the sadness in his own expression. "Stiles, she's going to be a tiny little baby. There's no way I can make that better." 

"Hey, it's okay," he says as he slides even closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders while his other hand falls to rest between her own. "It's not gonna be like that. She has you, and Scott, and Derek, and even Liam - maybe. But she's pack, Mal. Scott will teach her." There's something like a growl or a snarl in the back of her throat as he says it. She understands that Scott is the alpha, that he'll most likely always be their alpha, but this will also always be her pup. "You _and_ Scott," he corrects himself before she can ever say a word. 

"But she'll still be scared." 

"She might be, but we'll be there afterwards - to give her all the kisses in the world." As soon as he says it, his lips are against her cheek, peppering the side of her face with kisses. Any other time, she'd laugh along with him and probably counter with her own flurry of kisses, but this is serious, _really_ serious. So she scrunches up her nose as she pushes at his chest with a groan. He laughs before kissing her cheek one last time, lingering there, and then keeping his forehead pressed to her temple. "She's gonna have us, Mal," he promises again. "She won't be alone." 

She pulls away from him, just enough to look him in the eye. "You really think we can do this?" She watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard before he responds. His eyes are on the pup, his hand moving gently over her bump as he speaks. 

"Yeah, I really do." She can feel his lie, but it's not much of a lie - like the kind of tiny lies he's taught her it's okay to tell occasionally to protect someone's feelings or to avoid lectures from his dad. It's like she can sense that he's just unsure, not telling an outright lie. "You know, I'm glad she's gonna be like you," he says when she doesn't ask another question. 

"Really?" 

"Of course. She's gonna be able to heal herself, for one. And you're gonna have someone who's just like you." She's thought of these things too, about how nice it'll be to have another pack member that's just like her. Scott and Derek and Liam have each other, and Lydia has Meredith. Even Stiles has Allison who is still just as human as him. But she's always been a little different - just like their pup. Still, there's that fear that they won't be able to help her - or control her. "I hope she's as fearless as you," he continues. "And as determined. And as caring." 

She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't have a name for this emotion. So she does what she's always done when she can't find the right words: she kisses him instead, relying on the physical to make up for what her speech still lacks. When she pulls away from him, his smile is enough for her to feel like she still did the right thing. And then just as suddenly, he's pulling away from her, retrieving the discarded book at the end of the bed. 

"You know, she is still a baby, too." He glances quickly back at her as he's settling back against the headboard and starting to flip through the book. "So maybe we shouldn't abandon the book just yet." She watches the pages as he flips through them. She's already gone over most of it, and her highlighting now fills the pages. "Whoa," he says after another minute of flipping. "This is a lot of red... Why didn't you say something?" 

"We don't usually talk about the pup like this," she says with a shrug of her shoulders. Really, they barely talked about the pup at all until the night they thought there was no more pup. She had just figured she would find out the answers to her questions eventually. 

"Well let's figure this out," he says as he sinks down, settling into the spot beside her. They start where the pup is right now and the changes that are happening to her this week. There are diagrams he flips quickly past and words she highlighted that he tells her Lydia is an expert on, so she should definitely ask her instead, but he stops and talks about some of the passages she's highlighted in red, or they at least try to reason through it together. "And this right here," he says as he points to a line in the middle of the page that's highlighted red. "It says that she can respond to light. So like she can see it... even though she can't open her eyes yet... Huh." He's silent as he contemplates the page for a minute before looking over at her. "Wanna try it?" When she nods, Stiles pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight before lifting up the hem of her shirt. It takes a minute, but with the light shining against her skin, Malia can feel the pup start to stir even though she's been quiet today. 

"It's working," she gasps as soon as soon as she can feel her kicking right at that spot where the light disturbed her. 

"Really?" She can sense his excitement as he moves his hand to just below her own - and then almost immediately jumps. "Whoa! Is that her?" His voice is filled with awe as he stares at the pup bump, and she laughs as she confirms that it's the pup moving under his hand, finally big enough for him to feel. "Oh my god. That's _crazy_." 

His paper doesn't get finished that night - neither does hers. And there's still a lot of red highlighting that she doesn't understand, but there will be other nights when he picks up the book and tries to help her sort through it. Tonight, they experiment instead, playing around until they feel like they've discovered all of the things the pup can respond to, including their voices. And it's his voice that fills her ear when she's laying down to go to sleep that night.

"You know, I really think we got this." 

And she agrees. She really agrees.


	6. Sixth Month

It's the best sleep Stiles has had in almost a week. Honest to God, he can't remember the last time he fell into a deep enough sleep that he could _dream_ , and he's in the middle of a _really_ freaking good one when he wakes up to a stiff neck and an elbow being jabbed in his side that's way too sharp to be Malia's. And suddenly, he's back in Derek's loft in the middle of a pack meeting that has still yet to start, and the best sleep he's had all week has taken place in an armchair. In Derek _freaking_ Hale's loft. He could be wrong, but he'd bet money on a blind man being able to point out what's wrong with this picture. 

"C'mon, Lydia," he groans as he lets his eyes close again, slumping farther down into the armchair so his neck can rest against the back at a more comfortable angle. "Let a guy sleep."

"Caffeine. Now." She ignores his request altogether as she motions in the direction of the kitchen. "We need to start going over the plan for tomorrow, and you need to stay awake." 

"I know the plan," he mumbles sleepily without bothering to open his eyes. "I wrote the freaking plan. And I'm sleep deprived. I'm begging you: just let me sleep." 

"You'll be sleep deprived a few months from now when you have a newborn. Right now, you need caffeine. So go." He's not in the mood to take direction from Lydia tonight, so he stays put. He can practically _taste_ the dream again as he holds his eyes closed, willing his mind to give in to this exhaustion again. But Lydia elbows him again - _hard_ \- and he groans as his body instinctively curls in on itself to prevent further injury. 

"Okay! Oh my god! I'm up." He doesn't waste time getting up from the chair so Lydia doesn't have a third chance to try to gut him with her razor blade elbows and rubs a hand over his eyes before surveying the room, finding that the only other people who noticed he dozed off are Derek and Scott. Malia and Allison are still on the floor where they were when he must've closed his eyes for a second too long, now just sans Lydia. And Liam's on the couch with Mason, the two of them _way_ too into their conversation to really notice anyone else is there - or that anyone was sleeping. But Stiles and sleep have been working through a rough patch in their relationship, and he might have seen the girls' interest in the pup and the way she kicks now as a moment to just rest his eyes. 

And now, his sore neck is enough of a punishment without Lydia's wrath. 

He gets it, he really gets it. He was the one who insisted on having a plan, and he was the one who worked out the minute details with Lydia. Because Stiles promised Malia when she was just barely pregnant that they would find her mom, and now she's only three months from her due date and her mom is still a mystery. At least, she's a mystery that's slowly but surely becoming less of a mystery. They have a scent now, a picture, and, thanks to Stiles's sleuthing abilities and his need to do _something_ for Malia after they canceled the last trip, possibly a name. And they have the dog that he hopes Deaton burned or shredded or pulverized in some other over-the-top, probably not totally necessary way. Even if they don't have her mother’s motivation written out for them, the pack consensus is that Malia was given to the Tates with the dog in the hopes that she wouldn't shift in front of her adoptive parents. 

So he gets it - he doesn't need Lydia nagging him to know that this pack meeting is important. But he's also exhausted, and he can't help that. 

In the kitchen, he pops a cartridge into Derek's Keurig before hauling himself up onto the counter and sitting beside the machine while it brews. He's rubbing at the kink in his neck and opening his mouth in a seriously unattractive yawn when Scott walks into the kitchen. "Please don't tell me Lydia sent you to make sure I'm not passed out in the middle of the table." 

Scott shakes his head. "I came to check on you. The girls are talking about baby names again." Stiles watches as his best friend hops up onto the island across from him, swinging his legs almost as soon as he's sitting down. "Lydia's more concerned about making sure you guys don't name her after the moon. 

Stiles immediately makes a face. "We are _so not_ naming her after the _moon_." He's silent for a minute as his expression becomes more thoughtful. "I think I'm actually insulted she thought we'd even _consider_ it." 

But Scott doesn't want to talk baby names right now, which he makes clear when he asks a question instead. "Stiles, man, you sleeping?" 

"One hundred percent awake," he says as he uses his thumbs to point at his chest - nevermind the fact that he's in the middle of another massive yawn. "Good ol' Lydia made sure of that." 

"No, I mean at night. Are you sleeping at all?" 

"Yeah, Scott, I'm fine. Just tired." He could argue that it's being halfway through a rough semester and thinking about becoming a _father_ in a little over fifteen weeks, but his classes are going great, and his new defense is just pretending like it's not going to happen. He's totally fine with the pup just the way she is right now - he can even empathize with the girls tonight because he's gotten a little distracted by pup kicks himself in the past couple weeks. As long as he doesn't let himself think about her being _outside_ of Malia, he is a-okay. (This new defense doesn't come recommended, and he's pretty sure he's made it pretty obvious because his dad is now _relentless_ about figuring out this nursery thing.) For once, it's not nightmares, stress, or fear keeping him up in the middle of the night. 

"Well, you look _way_ tired, dude. Those circles are _dark_." 

"Hey, thanks," Stiles says in feigned appreciation with a hand pressed to his chest. "You look really great tonight too." Scott gives him a pointed look, and Stiles can sense (even without spidey senses) that he's made one joke too many. "Don't worry. I'm not possessed. I'm just not sleeping as well as I normally do." He says that last part in a rush when Scott seems like he's about to jump on the fact that he just admitted to not sleeping. But really, if his best friend knows him as well as he thinks he does, Scott probably already knows that not sleeping _as_ well as before pretty much means not sleeping _at all_. 

"Well is it the pup? Malia can still hear her, right?" 

"Yeah, yeah she's good." Stiles begins to drum his hands against the island between his legs, glancing at the coffee maker and silently willing it to go faster so he has an excuse to not participate in this conversation. "She's good, Pup's good. As of now, she has all of her girl parts and no tail, so we're feeling pretty good about that," he offers with a shrug, hoping that Scott might get caught up in talk about the pup and forget the rest of this conversation. 

Scott doesn't take the bait. "Is it the whole pup thing? 'Cause we're gonna figure it out." 

The whole pup thing _does_ keep him up at night, but so far, it's only been after he's already awake. He owes Scott for that. _A lot_. Because with things pretty quiet on the supernatural front and a good lead on Malia's mom, Scott's really thrown himself into this whole baby thing. It's reached a point now where he thinks Scott and Derek spend more time with each other than even he and Scott do. But Derek has years of experience with little wolves that they just don't. "No, I know," he agrees because he really thinks he'd be sleeping fine at least twice a week if his only problem was his neurotic worrying. "We're good with the pup thing." 

"So then is it nightmares?" 

"No, but Malia keeps having a dream where she lays an egg instead of a pup, so that's a thing. She's also told me about a dream she keeps having about Allison. " he says, raising an eyebrow in Scott's direction. He doesn't know how Malia would feel about her dreams being broadcasted like this, but she rarely gets embarrassed about anything. Plus, this is the big one, the best distraction he has. 

But Scott has the self control of a saint tonight. His eyes are wide for a second, and then he's shaking his head like he physically needs to clear the image Stiles has tried to paint the next. "But why aren't you sleeping?"

Stiles sighs as his eyes go to the ceiling. The Keurig has finally stopped next to him, but now he's pretty sure that Scott will use Alpha force if necessary to keep him here till he gives a straight answer, so he might as well just get it over with. "It's Malia, man, and I swear, I'm trying so hard not to be a dick right now. I mean, she's got my pup inside her." 

"But - " 

"But." He pauses as he sighs again, finally looking back over at Scott. "She's got my pup inside her." He stops drumming his hands against the counter in order to hold them up so Scott can see as he curls one of his index fingers around the other. "I've always been the little spoon," he explains as he wags the tip of the index finger playing the role of the little spoon. Then he pulls his fingers apart so there's a fair amount of space between them. "Now, it's me, her, and her pup bump." 

Scott's brows knit together in the perfect portrait of confusion. "Her what?" 

"Y'know, her pup bump," Stiles says as he uses his hand in front of his body to mime Malia's swollen middle. 

Somehow, his best friend manages to look even more confused. "So you can't sleep?" 

"I'm just used to being able to feel her, _all_ of her, and now I can only feel pup... and more pup." 

"Dude. She's getting _big_.” 

Stiles nods slowly, his eyes wide. "It's _a lot_ of pup." And then he groans, letting his head fall back against the cabinet behind him. "And I sound like a dick." 

"You didn't tell her, did you?" 

"Of course not," he says quickly as he finally reaches over to grab his finished cup of coffee, topping it off with an ungodly amount of cream and sugar. "I'm smarter than I look, Scotty. And it's not like it's just her. It's pretty cute and all how Pup kicks now, but it's not so cute when she's kicking your kidneys at two in the morning." 

"You can feel that?"

Stiles nods as he begins to swing his legs, the caffeine already starting to do its job. "It's like this little tapping. It's not enough to wake me up, but it keeps me up if I'm already awake." 

"Don't you think she probably kicks Malia's more?" 

"And _this_ is why we've already established that I'm a dick." Stiles doesn't have to be told that he's selfish; he's already very much aware of his tendency to put himself above all else. And if he wasn’t, he has his dad there, constantly pointing out moments in his life when he needs to be more selfless and reminding him that _someone else comes first now_. Really, two someone elses. Which is why he's been running on massive amounts of caffeine instead of waking her and asking her to move. 

"Well, you can't just not sleep," Scott says, ever the alpha. His need to protect the pup is new, but they're all used to the way that Scott tries to take care of all of them - even Mason, who has somehow wormed his way into the pack since discovering Liam's Big Dark Secret (Stiles has this theory that even when he's tying up girls, Liam is worming his way into Mason's bed, too. But this has yet to be proven.) But a few nights without sleep won't kill Stiles. He already knows this from _plenty_ of experience. 

"Watch me," he says as he hops down from the counter, taking a long drink from the mug in his hand. Two more cups after this one, and he just might make it through the pack meeting without another Lydia Martin Lecture. "I just want to get through this stuff with her mom. Then I'll sacrifice her sleep for my own comfort." 

He thinks they're done with this conversation as he takes another huge gulp from the mug and goes to move past Scott, but Scott puts out an arm to stop him. He's quiet again for a long minute and Stiles could swear that he could smell the indecision rolling off his best friend, even though he's never had wolf senses to speak of. "If it's this hard for you to sleep," he finally asks, his words slow like he still wants the option to stop if he changes his mind."Do you guys still... You know?"

"You know... Have sex?" Stiles smirks as Scott's face reddens. It's not like they don't talk about their sex lives, but usually it's because Stiles brought it up. Scott's not usually the one to ask questions. "Why? You wanna watch?" 

"No - God, no - I just - " 

Sometimes, Stiles forgets that a few years from now, this whole pup thing is something he'd willingly choose to do. It's something that he's sure Scott will want to do eventually. And it's moments like this when Stiles remembers he's kind of becoming an expert on this terrifying unknown that Scott's future holds somewhere. "Scott, _of course_ we do. She's pregnant, not dead. Creativity just counts now," he adds with a smirk. 

"But isn't it - Don't you ever worry about -" 

He finishes Scott's thought before his best friend can stop stumbling over his words. "God, no. You just don't think about it. The pup is _so_ not on my mind then." 

Scott opens his mouth to ask another question, but before he has the chance, Lydia is clearing her throat in the doorway, wearing a glare that only darkens when Stiles holds up his mug with a wide smile. "It does _not_ take this long to make up a cup of coffee." 

"Oh yeah!" Stiles says excitedly, his wide smile never fading. "You probably make coffee here all the time. I always forget." Truth of the matter is he doesn't think he could _ever_ forget that Lydia Martin now shacks up with Derek Hale, but the way she visibly seems to squirm in the doorway is the reason for the comment. She was secretive about the relationship to begin with, but there's been this level of awkward ever since they saw her in only Derek's shirt not so many months ago. "You know exactly how long it takes now?" he asks, glancing back at Scott for a second with that same over the top grin before turning back to Lydia. "Just long enough for a quickie?" 

Lydia stares at him, eyes wide with shock, for half a minute before she remembers to be furious instead. "Pack meeting. _Now_." And then she turns on her heel, leaving the room before he has the chance to make another obscene comment. 

" _Dude_. I can't believe you just said that." 

Stiles can't help but smirk, pretty proud of himself. "C'mon, Scotty," he says instead of going for the most witty comment he can think of for a second time. "Let's get out there before Lydia kills me before I have the chance to meet my pup." 

They finally rejoin the rest of the pack in the other room. In an effort to stay awake, he claims a spot on the floor next to Malia instead of the chair. He also doesn't miss Lydia's glare, one that darkens when he holds up his cup of coffee with a wide smile. But before Lydia can chastise him again, Malia is _on_ him, talking excitedly. "Did you know names have meanings?" she asks, her eyes bright with excitement, and he realizes he and Scott haven't missed too much if they've still been talking about names. "Lydia says I should name the pup too." 

Stiles immediately looks to Lydia who is now busy talking to Derek before looking back to his girlfriend.He has no idea where this is coming from, but he doesn't like it. "Since when?" 

"Since I'm the one with the pup," she says with that same excited expression. "Lydia says you can make the rules when you have a pup inside you." 

"Oh good," he very nearly grumbles as he sends a glare across the room to the back of Lydia's head. "We really needed more words of wisdom from Feminist Lydia." 

It's a while before they get back on topic then because Malia wants to recite everything the girls have taught her about names and Liam and Mason can't stop laughing way too hard over some stupid inside joke, but they go over the plan eventually. They agree to meet back at the loft in the morning. Stiles only manages to doze off once. Lydia only yells a little bit. 

On his way out, Scott reminds him that he could use the sleep tonight, and Stiles promises to think about it. He knows he'll sleep again - eventually. 

\-----

The newest challenge they're forced to meet is their sleeping arrangement. The _bigger_ challenge is her anxiety. She can handle the news that she's pregnant and the unexpected shifting that ensues without batting an eye, but in the morning she'll hopefully find herself face-to-face with her biological mother for the first time in her life, and she's suddenly a bundle of nerves wound more tightly than even Stiles. 

It's Stiles who has tried to explain it to her, too, the way all of her emotions seem a little more intense now with the pup. Like the way her senses are heightened even in her human form. Except now it's that sad things almost always make her cry and anger makes it almost impossible for her to fight the urge to throw things and anxiety apparently leaves her with a _very_ short temper. 

After the pack meeting, there's not much of a fight to convince Stiles they should just go to bed. Malia noticed the way his head would slowly fall back and then snap forward again in the chair before he finally fell asleep, but it's not really out of the ordinary. She's watched him doze off in the library, fall asleep mid-assignment, and start to nod off in class in just the last week. So when he falls asleep during the pack meeting, she doesn't think anything of it until they're leaving and Lydia takes a hold of the collar of his shirt to remind him that they're leaving in the morning and he better be awake enough to drive. "I'll be fine," he insists with a groan once they're back home and she's insisting that he go to bed so that they can just _leave_ like they're supposed to in the morning. But he still goes upstairs with her without putting up a fight. 

It's not until now when they're both in bed and she's wrapping her arms around him to pull herself closer that he even talks again. 

"Hey, Mal? Are you comfortable?" 

"Mm-hmm." Pretty soon, she won't be able to rest her chin on his shoulder anymore, but for now, it's still comfortable. And her arms don't wrap completely around him anymore, but she can still keep her hands against his middle, letting its rising and falling lull her to sleep while his breathing evens out. She closes her eyes to do just that right before he starts talking. 

"Are you sure? You're good? You're comfortable like this." 

"I'm fine," she says sleepily, nipping gently at the back of his neck equally as sleepily. "Go to sleep." 

She doesn't open her eyes, but she hears him sigh and feels his weight settle back down on the bed beside her. And then all she can hear is the sound of his breathing, and for the first time today, the pup is still and she can imagine her all curled up and sleeping too, and even though she's anxious about the morning, she's tired enough to feel herself already falling asleep... 

And then Stiles sighs again. And sits up so fast, she barely has a chance to pull her arm away. And she knows she's not going to fall asleep just yet. She sighs herself as she rolls away, opening her eyes just enough to see him. "What is it?" 

He groans as he buries his face in his hands. His words are muffled, but she can still make them out when he says, "I can't do this?" 

"Can't do _what_?" 

He smells like an apology as he looks back down at her, and she already doesn't like it. She still has a hard time discerning between someone being sorry and someone being sorry for _her_. The last thing she wants is for him to feel sorry for her as he rests his hand against her pup bump. "I swear, I love you just like this. I mean, it's super weird that she's like right there, but it's also pretty cool that you've got a pup growing inside you - _my_ pup. And Lydia really thinks that with your ability to heal and your little coyote metabolism, you'll be back to your old self in no time once Pup is here. So this is really just temporary -" 

"Stiles - "

"But I can't sleep," he finally says in a rush. In a way that tells her that was what he really wanted to say. "Malia, I haven't slept in almost a week." 

Now, she's too tired to have this conversation and too confused to follow him. "But why are you talking about me?" 

"Because it's the pup." He pats her bump where the pup is for emphasis, and her eyes follow his hand. "I got used to feeling _you_. Now, you've got a lot of pup going on there." There's a wave of his hand with that comment, and Malia sighs in response because where is the pup supposed to go? When she voices this opinion, he's quick to correct her. "She's good right where she is. I thought we could just... experiment a little bit." 

Her temper is much shorter when she speaks again. "Well, I'm not sleeping on my back." 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No one said you have to sleep on your back." 

"I can't breathe on my back." 

" _Malia_. You don't have to sleep on your back." His hand is back against her waist, moving back and forth while he talks to her. And then just as quickly, he pauses. His hand freezes, and he looks at her the same way he looked at Lydia when she said that the pack should really leave by nine the next morning. "You can't _breathe_?" With a huff, she sits up and folds her legs beneath her because she can already tell this isn't going to be a quick conversation. She doesn't feel any better about it when his face breaks into a wide smile. "That's adorable. Mal, you know she weighs like a pound, right?" 

There's something about the way he says it. It's _adorable_ , it's probably _entertaining_ , it's definitely _not him_. In the back of her mind, she knows that he doesn't mean anything by it, but in the front of her mind, she wants to snarl and growl and leave him with his tail between his legs. So she acts on impulse when she presses a hand to his shoulder and forcefully pushes him back down before moving her hand to the middle of his abdomen, the same place on her that now houses the pup. 

"But she's all right here," she argues back as she presses down _hard_ in the same place the pup rests heavily inside her whenever she lays on her back. He groans, bringing his knees toward his stomach and his hands to rest just below hers in a show of defense.

"Oh my god! Okay!" He stays curled up as he rolls onto his side, sucking in air in a series of quick deep breaths. "You don't have to sleep on your back. Just _please_ don't do that again."

The apology that she knows she should probably say is on the tip of her tongue, but then the energy she needed to say it with is gone. With a sigh, she lays back down, her eyelids feeling even heavier than the pup. "Stiles, I just want to sleep." 

"Okay, okay," he says, his own voice gentler and a little more patient. "Let's try this. C'mere." Still on his side, he scoots closer to her, and she takes his lead, turning onto her own side so her back is to his front. Over the course of the past four years, there's been a handful of times when he's decided he's wanted to be the big spoon, but it never ends well. His hand falls asleep or his arm grows sore or she gets tired of the way he keeps accidentally kneeing her every time he tries to get comfortable. But she's desperate to just lay down and close her eyes now, so she doesn't try to argue with him. Her eyes close as soon as his front is pressed to her back, and he immediately starts to talk again. "Okay, seriously, where does your other arm even _go_?" 

She suppresses a groan with another sigh. "Under you." They work together to get his arm situated just above her waist, and there's a lot of trial and error before they find a spot where his arm isn't pinned at an uncomfortable angle and his arm isn't digging into her ribs. And she thinks they've _finally_ found it when his hand starts to go numb. It takes all of three not-so-subtle shakes before she flips back the covers and gets up out of bed. 

"Hey, wait. Where're you going?"

"My room. You can have the bed. It's fine." She's exhausted and a little annoyed, and tomorrow is going to be a long day. And she _needs_ him to be able to sleep because he _needs_ to drive in the morning and she _needs_ to find her mom. So she can sleep in the other room if it means he'll just lay back down and go to sleep. 

But he doesn't. 

"Wait, what?" When she turns back around, he's sitting up, eyes wide like when she told him they could take formula off the baby list they've been occasionally trying to put together. "No. You sleep _here_." He pats the bed next to him when she just stays there in the doorway. "Come _here_." 

"Stiles, I just want to sleep. And if you're not comfortable - " 

"Trust me. I'm _definitely_ not going to sleep if you're across the hall. Just come here." 

Every part of her tired body tells her to just take the guest room tonight because they've played this game before, and she would rather sleep for the half hour it'll probably take for him to figure out that there's no easy way for him to be in the middle of the bed _and_ both of them to be comfortable. But he sounds so apologetic when he says her name one more time, she hesitates in the doorway. If she's honest, she misses him when she's in the guest room. In his bed, everything smells like him even when he isn't there; in the guest room, it only smells like fabric softener. Even in her exhausted state, she knows she'll have a hard time falling asleep anywhere else, and that becomes her reason for staying when she heads back to the bed with a sigh. 

"We're putting the pup in there so sleeping there isn't even an option," he's saying more to himself than to her as he roughly fixes his pillows. And she's too busy sliding back beneath the covers with a yawn to really respond. But as she watches him, she can see the way he physically stiffens, no longer so concerned with fixing his pillows or the covers. For a long minute, it seems like he's distracted by something on the wall behind her, but then his face breaks into a wide smile when he looks her in the eye again. "That's it. Let's put her in the guest room. You can move all of your stuff in here. Like permanently." 

She nods as she yawns a second time. "As long as I get to sleep." Finding a place for the pup is a _big deal_ for them. In fact, it's probably the biggest pup decision they've made so far because they've just been putting things off . And she will appreciate the fact that this will be _their_ room now and that the pup will have a room of her own - it just might not be till morning. After she gets to sleep. 

She thinks he might laugh at her, but at least he takes her request seriously, immediately beginning to orchestrate another session of trial-and-error. They try facing each other, but then he can _really_ only feel pup. He tries filling the role of the big spoon one more time, but his hand falls asleep even faster, and he tries to ignore it until it becomes pins and needles and then they're waiting another five minutes before he can concentrate long enough to think of something else to try. Eventually, it's her suggestion that _he_ lay down on his back in the middle of the bed. He's hesitant after her reaction the last time, but he eventually is able to get comfortable that way, and she doesn't waste any time curling up right beside him so her head rests against his chest and her swollen middle rests just on top of his. Halfway through the night, he'll probably be uncomfortable on his back, but she sleeps soundly enough now that he'll be able to find a more comfortable position without ever waking her. At least for tonight, this is a viable option. 

"Mal?" he asks softly when she's finally started to doze off, and she feels her stomach clench because she might really hurt him again if he doesn't stop. "You comfortable?" 

This time, she only nods, too tired to even give a one word response. She doesn't open her eyes when she feels his lips against the top of her head, but she can still hear the smile in his voice. "And I'm serious. This is your room too now. No more sleeping across the hall." She falls asleep hoping she remembers to tell him how much she loves this being her room, too, in the morning. 

\-----  
An even bigger challenge is the trip they finally take the next morning after weeks of delays. Okay, so it's been more like _months_ of delays because Stiles's dad was still talking in mostly half sentences and finishing them by shaking his head when they started thinking about finding her mom. And so now that they're actually going, it feels sort of anti-climatic when they've been driving for an hour and a half and Scott tells Stiles to pull over because the run-down motel in front of them _has_ to be the place. And Malia's followed enough scents by now to know that he's right. 

If she had any doubts, they're gone when Derek turns into the parking lot behind them and turns off the car. All three of them - Scott, Derek, and Malia - were tracking this same scent to right... Here. Here where her mother must've been at some point to leave a scent this strong. Here where her mother hopefully still _is_. 

She's waited so long for this, though, it feels too good to be true - to the point where she actually turns to Stiles with a snarl when he reaches for her her hand to stop her as she goes to get out of the car. "Just gimme me a second," he says before falling silent again while Scott and Allison climb out of the backseat. Once they're alone with her in the Jeep and him standing right outside, he gives her hand a firm squeeze. "Whatever we find, it'll be okay. We'll figure the rest out." She's anxious and excited and so overwhelmed by all of these human emotions that she can't find words to let him know that she trusts him and she believes him when he says that they'll figure out how to care for their pup, so she settles for a kiss instead before she's climbing out of the car before Stiles can stop her again. 

But no one's _doing_ anything. Derek and Lydia are both in front of his car, staring up at the dirty stucco walls of the building in front of them. And Stiles isn't any better when he stops next to them. "Lydia," he says in way of greeting. "You did good with the whole clothes thing again." It's Stiles's new favorite joke to make, and it's one that even Malia knows Lydia hates. But Lydia barely seems to notice, and it sets Malia on edge. Some animalistic part of her brain knows something's wrong. 

"Something doesn't feel right," Lydia says, echoing Malia's own feelings, and if Stiles had fur, it'd be standing straight up. 

"Something like 'we're not all gonna survive this?' or something like 'Things have happened here that are as shady as this place looks?'" 

Lydia only continues to watch the motel, almost like she's _listening_ to it. "I'm not sure." She waits a beat, and then she finally blinks and turns away to look at Stiles. "We're fine, but someone else isn't. Or wasn't. I don't know yet." 

"Let's try to find the right room," Derek decides for the pack as he pushes himself away from the car. "You should have a better idea then." Malia likes that idea - a lot. She wants to find the room and find her mother before someone changes their mind and decides it's time to go home or someone pinches her and she's forced to wake up. She's waited too long to be _this_ close and have to give up. She's the first to start to move away from the cars, knowing that Scott and Derek and the rest of the pack (minus Liam who had a lacrosse game and Mason who Stiles says is his shadow) will follow. But she's barely taken a step when Stiles catches her hand and pulls her to a stop. 

"Whoa. Hey," he says in an attempt to catch everyone's attention, which he does well when everyone comes to a stop and turns back to face him. "Can we _please_ proceed with caution here?" Once again, he's met with silence, so he motions towards her with both hands. "Precious cargo." 

She wants to argue that she's fine and the pup's fine, but Allison jumps in before she has the chance, reassuring Stiles that they won't do anything dangerous. And, as if to prove that they're going to do this as safely as possible, Scott suggests starting in the office on the far side of the motel where there might be an employee who remembers seeing her mother. But the woman they find at the desk isn't the bearer of good news that they're looking for. When she asks if she can help them, Stiles pulls out the picture they found in Malia's former basement of her and her mother and asks if she recognizes her, and Malia thinks it might've been better if she had said she had never seen the woman before. 

"Honey," the woman says instead with a shake of her head. "She hasn't been here in years. Was pretty permanent for a while, but then she must've got her life together and moved on." She leans closer to the photo, pointing directly at Malia. "Had that baby right upstairs in room 12 - cost me new carpeting that she _still_ owes me money on. Couldn't forget her now if I tried." 

There's something not quite right about that story, but Malia can't pinpoint it because she's too focused on the first part. _She hasn't been here in years_. Her mother hasn't been there in _years_. Maybe they succeeded in tracking her scent, but it's one she left behind here, not one she still carries with her. She might make a sound without realizing it or maybe it's her expression that tips him off, but Stiles wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer as he sets his mouth in a firm line. "Well, can we see the room?" 

The woman checks a list in front of her, then gives a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. "If you pay." 

"Just to look around?" 

"Hourly rate." The woman gives a nod towards the sign outside that lists just how much it costs to stay in one of these rooms for an hour. 

"Of course. This place would," Stiles says mostly under his breath as he turns to look out the window then turns his attention back to the woman. "We're literally only going to _look_." This time, the woman nods towards Malia with a smirk that's missing teeth. 

"Is that what you told her?" 

She can feel the tension in every part of Stiles's body, and she can sense his anger as it rolls off him in waves. She can also sense Scott right behind her a second later, so she is willing to bet she's not the only one who can tell that Stiles is about to lose it, even before he speaks again. " _Excuse me_?" Luckily, Derek is there to stop Stiles before he can do anything he'll most likely regret. Her cousin hands over enough to cover two hours in the room before the woman hands over the key and tells them to enjoy their stay. Under normal circumstances, Malia would turn back around to face the woman on her way out and growl when Stiles wasn't there to reprimand her. But she's too distracted by the mantra still running through her mind. 

_She's not there, she's not there, she's not there._

"She's lucky I didn't knock in the rest of her teeth," Stiles is still grumbling after Scott half drags him out of the office, but Malia doesn't really pay attention. She's still stuck on this new knowledge that her mom isn't here either and isn't any closer to being found. It feels like there's something wrapped tightly around her chest, squeezing a little harder every time she thinks about it. It takes Derek's hand on her shoulder to finally snap her out of it. 

"Hey," he says gently, and she finally looks back up at him. "You okay?" The sound of Derek's voice must snap Stiles out of it, too, because he stops complaining in order to break free from Scott and come to stand in front of her again, hands on her shoulders. 

"Malia? You okay?" 

"She's not here." She leans in towards him as she says it because she's always sought out physical comfort when she doesn't know how to process an emotion. He immediately pulls her into his arms and holds her even when she doesn't reciprocate. 

"I know. I know she's not here, but it's okay. We'll figure it out. We'll -" It's the second time she's heard him say it in just the time they've been here, but he sounds half as confident this time, and his voice just kind of stops mid sentence. Kind of like he doesn't know how to process this either. 

"We'll check the room," she hears Derek say from somewhere behind her. "Her scent's too strong for her to have been gone since Malia was a baby. If she came back, maybe there's something still in that room." 

It's the only plan they have, and now they also have the room to explore for the next two hours, so no one tries to argue when Lydia turns to head toward the stairs. They all follow her to the door marked 12, and Malia's chest feels tight again as Derek turns the key in the door to let them in. She wants to be the first one inside, but Stiles grabs her hand again to stop her. She turns back with a growl that dies as soon as he asks her to _just be careful_. 

By then, Scott has entered and turned on the light, revealing nothing that even hints at something dangerous. The bed is made up neatly, the nightstands are bare, and the chair in front of the worn desk is pushed in. There's no sign that anyone's been here recently, no sign of anything at all. As she takes it all in and realizes that there's no evidence her mother was here at _any_ time, her chest feels a little tighter. 

It's Scott who speaks first this time, voicing what they're all thinking. "So what do we do now?" 

Beside her, Stiles scoffs. "Well, I can tell you that _she_ definitely thinks we're using this room for an orgy right now." 

Malia hears every word the boys say, but her eyes are constantly on Lydia. The banshee looks just as contemplative as before while she walks the entire perimeter of the room before she comes to a stop in the middle. "Something happened here," she finally says when she stops. "Something bad." The boys fall silent as all eyes are on Lydia then. She cranes her neck, listening to something the rest of them can't hear. After a few minutes, there are tears in her eyes and Malia feels like she might cry along with her. "Someone died here." 

That tightness in her chest grows a little worse, and she whimpers before she can stop herself, effectively gaining the attention of the entire pack. Stiles is there by her side again before she even realizes she made a sound, offering words of comfort, but she can't concentrate on them because she can't stop thinking about her mom. About how she _can't_ be gone because Malia still has no idea how to be a mother, and she and Stiles know almost nothing about pups. And this is nothing like she had imagined this trip would play out. Nothing at all. 

"And in a place like this, who knows how many people have been in this room?" Stiles is saying when she finally calms down enough to realize that he's talking to her. He opens his mouth to continue to try to convince her that just because there's a bad aura in this room, it doesn't mean her mother was ever caught up in it, but he's cut off by a loud ripping sound from the other side of the room. His head immediately snaps up, and hers follows, finding Derek crouched in a corner, working hard to pull the stained carpet away from the wall. " _Dude_. She's gonna charge you for a whole lot more than two hours if you're redecorating in here." Derek looks up from his work long enough to shoot Stiles a look, but he doesn't say anything. "Okay, seriously. What are you even _doing_ right now?" 

Even Malia knows that taking up the carpet here doesn't fall under normal human behaviors, but Derek's face is lined with his determination. He sighs as he stops long enough to look back over at the two of them. "That woman said that Malia was born here and then she had to replace the carpeting, but you've seen her birth certificate. Think about what it says." 

"Uh, it says she's a girl... and her name's Malia." 

"But what _else_?" 

She watches Stiles's face, sensing his annoyance as she silently wills him to figure this out. He's the one in the pack who almost always pieces everything together, and she needs him to do that now, to find whatever missing piece Derek thinks is still here in this room. Because Derek's already back to pulling at the carpeting and everyone else is just watching him, so she needs Stiles to be able to figure it out. When his annoyance gives way to an overwhelming sense of realization, she really just wants to kiss him. 

"She was born in a hospital," Stiles says before she has the chance, and there's suddenly a knot in the pit of her stomach because this makes even less sense to her now. "Malia wasn't born here. Why would that woman say that she was?" 

"Because that's what she was told. Malia’s mom needed a cover." Derek yanks the carpet back one more time before he stops, staring down at the floor underneath. It's a hardwood floor, worn and scratched and - most importantly - stained. It's a huge stain, nearly as wide as the bed, and it disappears underneath the carpeting that still covers the floor. "Think someone had a baby here?" 

Beside her, Malia can feel Stiles tense again, then hears the sound of his gagging. "Oh god. I hope not." 

Lydia's been quiet since her earlier declaration, but she moves closer to Derek now, studying that stain before she very carefully sits down on the floor beside it, presses her palm to the very middle, and closes her eyes. Beside Malia, Stiles gags a second time. "Do we really have to _touch_ it?" 

But Lydia ignores his question as her eyes open again, filled with an understanding that Malia wants to possess. "She wasn't born here," Lydia agrees. "Someone died here. Not your mom," the banshee adds quickly with an even quicker glance at Malia before her eyes go back to the floor. "But someone did." 

She knows who the someone is because Derek isn't looking her in the eye. Because Stiles shifts uncomfortably and he starts to bite at his thumb. Because Lydia's looking at her like she just _knows_ , even though Malia doesn't think her banshee skills are actually that good. Because Scott draws in his breath and flares his nostrils like there might still be a threat lurking there somewhere. They can really only speculate right now with no proof, but Malia can sense it, too, even without alpha senses or a banshee background. Her mother might not have died in this room, but she was responsible for the death that happened here. 

And suddenly, Malia can't breathe. 

Because she knows what her mother did. She sat with Derek while he told her, and she accepted it as fact because Derek is probably the closest family she'll ever have (with the exception of Stiles and the pup) and he's never given her a reason not to trust him. But hearing that her mother murdered Peter Hale's girlfriend and seeing the evidence there before her are two different things. And without her mother there, this is all that she knows about where she came from. And just a few minutes ago, she had wanted to tear apart a stranger for a _comment_ she had made at Stiles's expense. 

And how is she supposed to be a mother to their pup if this is what she's inherited from her parents? 

Her chest feels tight again - too tight - and her heart is pounding so loud, it drowns out the sound of the rest of the pack as they continue to ask Lydia questions. But Malia knows something's wrong - something's really wrong now - because she can't breathe. 

"Stiles," she manages between short, shallow breaths. She's too warm now and her jacket's too tight and all she can think about is getting it off, but her hands are working as well as her lungs. At least Stiles hears her because he looks over at her, eyes wide when she manages to lift her head. "Stiles, I can't - I can't breathe." 

"Oh my god." It's hard for her to focus on anything but her racing heart and the way it feels like something is _squeezing_ her chest, but she can feel his hands as they come over hers, stopping her from trying to pull off her jacket. "Okay, it's okay. You need to sit down." As he says it, he forces her closer to the bed until the backs of her knees hit the edge and her legs buckle so she has no choice but to sit down even before his hands press down on her shoulders and force her the rest of the way. He kneels down in front of her once she's sitting and places his hands on her thighs just below where her cutoffs end. "Deep breaths, Mal. Deep breaths." 

"I-I can't." Her hands go for her jacket again because it's too tight now, making her chest feel tighter somehow. But she still can't get it off because she can't stop thinking about that stain on the other side of the bed and the stains that will someday be there on the pup's life. 

"You gotta try." Somewhere behind her shoulder, a voice she'll remember being Allison's only later asks if she can help and Stiles takes his eyes off Malia for all of five seconds. "Help her get her jacket off," he says to whoever is there, and gentle hands move hers away before finally removing it. But it doesn't help. That tightness is still there. And the fact that it's not going away only makes it worse. But Stiles is still there in front of her, taking her hand and holding it against his chest so she can feel the way his heart beats just a little faster than normal. "Focus on my breathing, Malia," he tells her gently. "It's a panic attack. It'll go away. But you have to try to calm down." 

It's harder than it sounds; he takes deep exaggerated breaths and she tries to match them, but her breathing is so much faster and it still feels like someone has a fist around her chest. She can't find a way to slow it down, and it's getting harder to focus on Stiles because her eyes want to roll back into her head. "C'mere," she hears him say, and she fights to open her eyes when his palm comes to rest against her cheek. He moves closer, wrapping his hand around to the back of her neck so he can pull her towards him and press his forehead against her own. "Breathe, Mal," he tells her again. "You gotta breathe." 

And she does. 

Eyes locked on him, hand still pressed against his chest, he envelopes every one of her senses as she focuses on the steady way he breathes. The tightness in her chest starts to lessen, her heart starts to slow down, her breathing finally starts to match his. A minute later, she's still gasping and wheezing, but that feeling is gone from her chest and she no longer feels like she _can't_ breathe. She can also focus on something else, like the way the pup is making her presence known, kicking hard like she wants to remind Malia that she's there, too. "You good? You okay?" Stiles asks, and Malia nods. He sighs as he closes his eyes, rubbing the back of her neck for a good minute like maybe whatever that tight feeling was is contagious and he felt it too. 

It's Scott who suggests that the rest of the pack just wait outside, and there's a little bit of hesitancy because what if there's something else hidden in the room besides just the blood stain that takes up half the floor? But Malia misses the convincing argument because Stiles pulls her into his arms so she's as close as he can get her, and she buries her face in his neck for now while her breath continues to come in staggered gasps. "You're okay," he tells her as her fingers dig into the back of his hoodie and she can't tell anymore if he's holding her or she's holding him. "It's gonna be okay. We're not giving up, I promise. We'll find her, okay?" 

Malia pulls away as soon as she realizes that Stiles doesn't understand. "But what if I'm like them? Peter and my mom - what if it's in me, too? What if I'm just like them? What if I ruin the pup, too?" 

It's her biggest fear she's just handed over to him, and he looks like startled prey he's when she stops. He opens and closes his mouth twice, and he smells so sad, it's almost enough to make her feel like she's choking on her own breath again. "Malia, you're not ruined," he says when he tries a third time. "You're way too strong to let them _ruin_ you. And you won't ruin the pup because you're nothing like them. You're worried because you love her so much. You're not your parents, trust me." 

But even though she's trusted him with her heart and her humanity and her life, this feels different. It still feels different hours later after the pack has decided there's nothing else for them there, after she's silent on the way home despite the way Stiles's hand is on her knee the entire time and he keeps strategizing with Scott about where they should look for her mother next, after he's taken her home and up to his room (newly christened theirs) and then takes off her clothes before relinquishing control because he knows she finds comfort in the familiar when this whole human thing gets to be too much. 

It still feels different now when she's back in his arms, and his chest is still warm and flushed when she lays her head down there. 

His voice is a soft vibration against her cheek when he talks. "Malia, my dad - he's a - he has a little bit of a drinking problem." His scent is overwhelmed by his anxiety so she can't even recognize her own scent still on him. Even if she couldn't smell it on him, his knee bounces next to her, brushing against her own bare leg. But when she lifts her head to look at him, his eyes meet hers for a split second before they go to the ceiling, and she feels like maybe she shouldn't watch him. "Or had one - I guess - after my mom..." She knows about his mom because he's told her about the accidents that led to the doctors that led to hospital stays and awful conversations and eventually the night where he watched her die in a less violent manner than her own mother. But they don't usually talk about his dad like this. "And my mom - she had dementia, and who knows if that's genetic? And then there was the whole nogitsune thing..." 

She doesn't understand why he's saying any of this. She's about to stop him when he stops himself instead and sighs before moving to sit up and gently forcing her to sit up with him. "Look," he tells her as he places a hand against her middle. "I didn't hit the genetic jackpot either - I've been medicated for ADHD, anxiety, depression, and insomnia, and I don't know what else I might have. Or what I might pass on to her," he says with a nod towards her pup bump. "But I know for a fact that you're not a monster, and neither is Pup - even if she's born with a tail." 

Malia doesn't know if he's trying to make a joke about her tail again or not, but she doesn't stop to think about it. "But how do you know?" 

"Because you don't do things like that. You don't hurt people like that." 

"But I did. And sometimes, I still want to." 

"But you _don't_ ," he tells her as he moves a hand under her chin. "That's the difference. We've both done things we're not proud of, but we weren't in control then. We're in control now, though, and we're gonna help her stay in control. We're gonna love her no matter what, and we won't let her become a monster." 

Her hand comes to rest beside his where the pup is currently kicking, almost like she wants them to know she agrees. Malia can't really sense her emotions yet - she might still be too small to even really have emotions - but she still feels like she can sense things about her, the way she knows that she's a girl or she thinks she knows when she doesn't like something. Or the way she can sense that she's theirs - part of him and part of her and part something that's entirely her own. Free of whatever baggage they may have passed along. "She's not a monster," she agrees, knowing that he's right. 

"Definitely not a monster." He leans in to kiss her then before pulling back to promise her that they'll figure this out, along with her mom's location and this whole pup shifting thing. It feels a little less different when she lays her head back down on his chest to fall asleep that night.

\-----

After their failed pack field trip, Malia is in need of a serious distraction. She can take the news that she's pregnant in stride, make it through a whole trimester filled with poorly timed shifting fits, and put up with his nerves and anxiety and constant worries. But she's not quite herself in the days following their return from the motel. So Stiles caves just for her and _finally_ agrees to start tackling the human side of this pup stuff. 

It turns out it's a _whole_ lot more work than he thought. 

Luckily, they have his dad who is always there to remind Stiles that he tried to get them to start thinking about these things months ago. Like when they finally go through Stiles's old baby things stored away in the basement, giving Malia an opportunity to fall in love with the rocking chair that Stiles was rocked to sleep in. Or when his dad and Melissa take the two of them out to start buying some of those essentials - like the car seat that will soon be a permanent fixture in the Jeep and the crib where she'll sleep once she's here (thankfully a gift from his dad and Melissa that Stiles will be forever grateful for). Or when they sit down to finally discuss new sleeping arrangements that Stiles is pretty damn proud to announce they've already figured out (there's a moment of hesitation on his dad's part even though the two of them have been shacking up in his room for most of the past four years, but they also have a _baby_ now, so the rule against sharing a room seems to have gone out the window). Mostly, Stiles keeps the impending panic attack at bay by reminding himself that they still have 15 weeks until Pup really needs a place to stay and sleep and travel. 

Malia - however - is in need of a distraction _now_ , so the following weekend, Scott and Allison spend most of the day at the Stilinskis', relocating Malia's things to his room and emptying the guest room. The weird thing is that Malia's shared his bed for most of the time she's been living there, but Stiles's chest feels a little tight when he opens the closet door and finds her clothes alongside his, and he's still trying to get used to opening the top two drawers of the left side of his dresser and finding her underwear there instead of his own. Because now it's _their_ space that _they're_ sharing, and it's the most permanent change _they've_ made so far. But with Malia moved, it only makes sense that they start on the space they've carved out for Pup. 

Which is how Stiles finds himself up way too early on a Sunday in what was still the guest room yesterday with his dad and two gallons of paint. They've painted enough rooms together to have a system figured out, right down to the old Star Wars sheets that cover the floor and the stereo that now looks like a Jackson Pollock original and has a broken dial so it's permanently stuck on a classic rock station that specializes in his dad's favorites - Tom Petty and John Mellencamp. The only difference is that Malia is there now, and she's determined to help when they first get to work painting the walls a light blue Lydia _might_ have helped pick out (along with the bedding for her crib - also thankfully included with the crib gift). But her volunteer status doesn't last long when she discovers she doesn't have much patience when the paint drips or the roller sticks a little. And then it's back to old times. 

Except that they're still painting a _nursery_. For _Stiles's_ baby. 

But an hour into today's "Get Ready for Pup" endeavor, Malia's settled in the rocker that's now in the middle of the room with the book of baby names they also found in the basement, and Stiles can think about the fact that this room is now a nursery without feeling short of breath. Hell, he's comfortable enough to sing along to the opening lines of the currently playing Modern English song with an obvious gesture towards Malia - which earns him a raised eyebrow from his dad. 

"C'mon, Dad. Like you didn't already know what we were doing in our free time," Stiles says in defense as he turns his attention back to the wall. Stiles would even argue that the _whole entire world_ knows what he was doing in his free time, so he might as well own up to it. "If making love to her _was_ second best, we wouldn't be painting a nursery right now." 

His dad doesn't say anything right away, and Stiles can't help but smile to himself because maybe they've officially reached this point where his dad can just appreciate his humor rather than call him out for it. And then it turns out his dad was just waiting until he had to turn away from his own section of wall for more paint. He even makes his own pointed gesture towards Stiles with his own roller for emphasis. "You, sir, need to watch yourself." 

"Okay, but no one really thinks she's carrying around a little coyote Jesus in there." There's another gesture with the roller towards Malia who's way too focused on the book in her lap to notice that she's now the partial focus of their conversation. At least he has enough sense to only _think_ about mentioning the fact that her shorts are no longer visible below the hem of her shirt when she stands, and that's probably another huge reason why she's now pregnant. His dad, though, is still not amused as he shakes his head. 

"I did something wrong if you really think you can talk to me like this." He looks back over his shoulder at where Malia's sitting instead of looking back at Stiles. "I am so sorry, Malia." 

At the sound of her name, Malia finally looks up from the book. She's got the whole deer-in-the-headlights thing going on as she looks between him and his dad, and he knows that she's missed this entire exchange. "What? Sorry for what?" 

"Nothing," Stiles says before his dad has a chance to say anything. "She totally loves me, right?" And as expected, when he looks back over at her, her confusion has been replaced by a wide smile. 

"Of course." 

Stiles enjoys this moment as he looks back over at his dad, watching as he shakes his head again. But he doesn't need his dad to tell him - again - that he's lucky to have a girl like Malia. He already knows just how lucky he is entirely on his own - and just how lucky he was long before she was carrying his little coyote. He basks in this small victory for another thirty seconds before he turns his attention back to the job of painting said nursery. "This walk of shame lasts nine months, Pops," Stiles sighs. "Might as well embrace it." 

"Hey." The single word catches his attention, and he looks over to find a roller being pointed at him yet again. "I don't want to hear you talking about my granddaughter like that." 

"That's not what I mean," Stiles starts, ready to launch into the same speech he gave Scott around the time Malia started receiving stares on campus about how the whole world knows where he and Malia were six months ago. But he's way too distracted by that word _granddaughter_. Because Stiles is spending his Sunday painting a nursery and he's learning more about the female anatomy than he ever intended to know and the most important decision he's going to make this week is helping to choose a name for the pup. But it's not just his life that's changing now. "Oh my god." His eyes are wide as he looks back over at his dad, forgetting all about the painting. "You're gonna be a grandpa. Dad, you sound so _old_." 

"I am not _old_ ," his dad argues, placing the same emphasis on the word that Stiles does. "I'm not old _enough_." That second part is said mostly under his breath, and Stiles finds himself half shrugging his shoulders, half nodding in agreement even though his dad didn't really ask for his opinion. "But I'm serious. What's done is done, and you kids are only going to get to to do this once. You need to enjoy it." 

It's his dad's way of letting him know that he's no longer so disappointed in him, and Stiles takes it, swallowing hard because seriously - Malia's hormones _can't_ be contagious but lately, a lot of things make him want to cry. Just a little bit. And his dad's acceptance of the pup is a pretty huge deal. It takes another minute, but he manages to thank his dad for his mini-pep talk before he turns his attention back to an otherwise neglected Malia, wanting to know how it's going on the name front. 

Because this is the first day of week two of Trying to Name Pup, and Pup is still the best name they have for her.

Malia doesn't even look up from the book to answer. "Sadie means 'princess.’”

With her gaze focused on the book, she can't even see him, but he still wrinkles his nose. "Take Sadie off the list." 

"No Sadie," she agrees. 

His dad doesn't say anything, but Stiles can literally feel the way he's listening to their conversation; if Malia was a little closer, she'd probably tell him that his dad was curious. Maybe her coyote senses are starting to rub off on him now, too. "Lydia taught her about name meanings," he explains with a nod towards Malia and the book, knowing already that his dad is paying attention to every word he says. "So we're taking it into consideration." 

The truth is, Malia's been pretty stuck on this whole meaning thing ever since Lydia (from Lydia, Greece) and Allison (Child of the Noble One) introduced her to it. By now, she's informed the entire pack of their own name meanings, and she's made a habit of checking the book for each name's meaning before they move it to their currently empty contender's list. But it fits their promise to give her a unique name - one she wouldn't share with anyone else. Because there was his mom's name, but there was also her mom's name and her sister's name, and Malia had been the one to firmly decide that the baby needed her own name because she was her own little person. And Stiles had already talked about it with his dad, back when Stiles told him she was a girl, and his dad had left it up to them, giving his blessing for them to use his mom's name but not putting any pressure on them. But really, Stiles likes the idea of her having her own name - a fresh start. 

"Stiles's name means 'Bearer of Christ,'”Malia says without looking up; honestly, he hadn't even known if she was paying attention. "His real name." This comment earns an obvious look from his dad this time, and a second raised eyebrow. 

"I know," he says with a glance at Malia over his shoulder before turning back to Stiles and lowering his voice. "You told her your real name." 

It's a statement, not a question, because his dad knows that Scott would be the only person who knew his real name if Melissa hadn't heard him being reprimanded way too many times when he was a kid. Stiles just shrugs his shoulders without looking away from the wall. "Stiles wasn't in the book." She had been upset, frantically searching and coming up empty-handed, and he hadn't even thought twice about telling her that Stiles was more of a nickname, but no one but his dad had used his real name since his mom died. Before he knew it, they were in a conversation about the Polish school he had once attended on Saturday mornings and she was asking him to recite the parts of the language he still knew. It was only afterwards that he even thought about the fact that he had just told her his real name. 

And that it was probably a _good_ thing to now be on a first-name basis with the girl he knocked up. 

"What about Parker?" Stiles asks before his dad can ask another question because now it suddenly feels a whole hell of a lot more important that he told her his real name, and he needs some time to think about this before they talk. 

"It means 'Park Keeper'... What does that even mean?" 

"I have no idea. Cross it off." 

"Good," his dad agrees, once again a part of this conversation without ever actually feeling like he's there. "My granddaughter doesn't need to be named after Peter Parker." 

Stiles scoffs like he's offended, but they both know he didn't pull Parker out of thin air. His dad also catches him when he suggests Leia and Scarlett (as in Johannsen), but 'weary' and 'red' aren't the meanings Malia's looking for. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, he starts using the side of the roller to write out names as they say them, pairing them with Stilinski to see how they look in writing. And as it becomes clear that they've got nothing so far, he covers them back up with more paint, hiding her almost names on the walls of her room. 

After 45 minutes, she's as nameless as she's ever been, and he's starting to feel like it might be easier if he was forced to sit still for an extended period of time. In a last-ditch effort to find her a name today - like _right this minute_ , today - he suggests that they auction off their naming rights on eBay, but Malia attacks him for that one before his dad even has the chance. And he's reminded again of just how serious she's taking this name thing. (Not that he's not - he's taking it as seriously as he takes all of this other Pup stuff. But it's also become a lot of pressure he could do without.) 

"How do people _do_ this?" It's a comment he mumbles more under his breath than to anyone in the room because he thinks he might know the answer. Other people probably have conversations about potential baby names _before_ there's a baby. 

But his dad chooses to ignore the fact that he was talking more to himself. "Your mom picked your name," he says, dropping her into the conversation like this wasn't such an anomaly before he told his dad Malia was pregnant. "But her thing was that it had to be a family name, and it had to be Polish. She said it should've been a requirement with a last name like Stilinski." 

A quick glance over his shoulder proves that his dad has gained every last ounce of Malia's attention for the first time all day, but she doesn't look worried or confused, like she thinks it's _really_ a requirement that Pup also have a Polish name. It's still weird to him that his dad will go off on these tangents about his mom now, but it's even weirder that Malia always wants to hear about it. Almost like it's her own mom they're discussing. "Was it also a requirement to string together as many consonants as possible?" he asks, not really _trying_ to ruin the sentiment, but there's something about talking about his mom picking his name while Malia has that book open in her lap. 

"You know, I teased her about that, too." His dad smiles sadly at the wall, continuing to paint even though Stiles has stopped as a result of his now mostly gone frustration over the name situation. "Really, I just worried I wouldn't remember how to spell it. With the s and the z... and the other z." 

Stiles scoffs, but it turns into a laugh, and then it leaves a smile on his face. Because it feels _good_ to know that his dad worried about remembering how to spell his name. The peace, though, is short-lived because Malia gasps - a sharp, short sound that seems to fill the whole room. He jumps and drops the roller, and the quick way his dad turns around, suddenly all business, isn't exactly giving his confidence a boost. "Holy shit! What’s wrong?" he manages even though he's feeling seriously short of breath. 

But Malia doesn't even notice. Her smile is wide enough to make her eyes dance, and her gaze is on the book in her lap again. "This is it. Right here. This is _it_." His mini-heart attack hasn't even ended by the time he realizes that all that happened is a name in the right place at the right time, so he's not really even that sorry if he's being petty when he just stays where he is, not making any move to see the name she's pointing at. Malia lifts her head when she's only met with silence. "What?" she asks, all doe eyes and innocence, and god, is she ever lucky she's so unbelievably cute. 

"Seriously. You _have_ to stop doing that. We only act like it's an emergency when there's _an emergency_." 

"But, _Stiles_."Her smile never falters even though she doesn't always handle it well when she feels like she's being reprimanded. "This is her name. Right here. It's perfect." 

His curiosity gets the best of him, and he crosses the room before she even finished talking. There will be time later to review what an emergency really is; for now, he wants to know what's so perfect about this name. She makes it easy on him, though, when her finger is still pointing at the meaning on the right side of the page, and there's not even a discussion. Because she's absolutely right. "Oh my god," he says with a smile of his own. "You're right. It's totally perfect. That's gotta be it." 

Malia starts to tell his dad, but Stiles claps a hand over her mouth because it just doesn't feel right to tell him. Or to tell anyone, really. It's too perfect and too special, and shouldn't they wait until she's there so his dad can't find a reason to shoot down this name too? Malia's just relieved to have found a name, so they agree that it can stay a secret until she's actually here. They can go back to finishing their paint job, still mostly talking about Pup - still sans name. 

By the end of the day, she has a painted room. And she has a name. 

And she'll be here in just under 15 weeks. 

And Stiles feels pretty okay when he thinks about it. 

\-----

Somewhere between not finding her mom and finding a name for the baby, the thought worms its way into her brain. But Malia's spent all of her time post-coyote ignoring things she doesn't understand or doesn't _want_ to have to understand because obligation and the feelings associated with it are a part of her humanity she hasn't gained back. But it's still there when they go out with his dad and Melissa and Melissa points out all of the things they'll need, some Malia's never even seen before. And it's a little harder to ignore when she's leaving the yoga class Lydia and Allison insisted she go to with them and the girls start talking excitedly about how great it'll be to have a baby around because it's been so long since either of them has been around a baby. And it's sometimes the first thought to cross her mind when she lays awake at night because the pup is restless or using her bladder as a pillow and all she can think about is her - and how soon she'll be there. 

But she's also good at distracting herself so it's just a thought in the back of her mind that she only notices once in a while. When it really bothers her, sometimes she'll go out running. (The pup slows her down now, but it also means Stiles can keep up with her...kind of, and running with him is nice - even if he always complains afterwards about how much he _freaking hates running_.) Or she'll pounce the minute they're home (and in his bedroom - they're not venturing into any other parts of the house any time soon). Or she'll tag along to wherever Stiles and Scott are headed, knowing that at some point they'll brainstorm possible places her mom could be hiding or ways to keep the baby a baby once she's here. 

Still, even her coyote brain can only bury fears for so long. 

It becomes impossible to ignore when she's sitting in class next to Stiles, his knee bouncing furiously while he chews on the cap of his pen. She knows she's supposed to be helping him, focusing on the page his notebook is open to with three clearly drawn columns, but she's too distracted by the pup who is doing flip after flip. It's moments like this when she wonders if their pup can already sense emotions, picking up on Stiles's nervous energy. Or maybe she's just all Stiles, unable to ever stay still. 

"What if I drop this 8:30 and take it at a different time?" he says, eyes focused on the sheet as he talks. He sighs before she has the chance to say anything, bringing the hand holding the pen to cradle his forehead instead. "I don't even remember what this class is." 

"I don't understand why we can't both take an 8:30. We always take classes at the same times." And in the past, they sat down together - Malia, Scott, and Stiles - and they poured over their options together to find as many matching combinations as possible. It took an hour tops, usually the hour right before registration for the next semester of classes opened. But Stiles started on this schedule work a week ago, and so far, none of the three of them will be ready to register tomorrow night. Right now, they have ten minutes before class starts, and he's determined to figure it out. 

Stiles draws a star next to the 8:30 class in his column - class that could possibly move - before he looks over at her. "Where's Pup gonna go if we both have an 8:30?" 

"Why can't she come with?" He watches her expectantly, like he's waiting for her to say something else. Then his face cracks into a smile. 

"Malia, you can't bring her to class." 

"Why not?" 

"Because." He pauses there in a way that makes her think he's just going to stop. Her confusion gives way to annoyance because _because_ is the worst answer he's ever given her. But he catches the change in her demeanor and scans the room as he answers her question. "How many babies do you see here? People don't bring babies to class. Which is why we are going to be forever grateful to my dad and Melissa for agreeing to take her when they can." 

"And Derek," she reminds him, hand moving over the place where the pup has settled at least for this minute. She was there for this conversation when they first sat down to work out their schedules for the fall semester, which brought with it all kinds of challenges because it started _after_ her due date in the last week of July. But his dad and Melissa are both willing to take the baby on days when they're free and there's not an unavoidable conflict in their own schedules. It was her idea to ask Derek to be their back-up plan for days when both his dad and Melissa were working or they were both called in for some kind of emergency. 

"And Derek - worst case scenario. But we're trying to figure this out so that one of us is always with her and we don't have to worry about leaving her with anyone." He moves the pen back to his mouth as he studies the list, and she leans closer so that her shoulder brushes his while she reads the list, too. His shorthand combined with his arrows and symbols don't make much sense to her, but at least she can read all three of their names written out in his block handwriting at the top. He crosses out something in his own column until it’s imposible to read whatever had been written there anymore. "The problem is the Jeep. Because it should stay with whoever has her... And then whoever has class just goes with Scott... But Scott can only take classes at half these times." 

She sighs as she finally gives in and lays her head down against his shoulder. "Then let's just buy a car." After seven days of staring at this list, it's not the first time the Jeep has come up. His dad was the one to point out that the person with the baby should have access to a car _just in case_. And they've been trying to work around the Jeep dilemma ever since. 

"It's not that simple." 

"I have the money." The expense of a car has been his argument of choice every time, but she's been quick to counter with the fact that she can afford it - even if his own bank account is _a little weak at the moment_. Peter's money became hers when he was locked away because she's his next of kin, and there's no plan to ever let him out again. Most of the time, it just sits in an account Derek set up for her because there are very few material possessions she even needs. But Stiles doesn't like that she has the money, or at least doesn't like it when she wants to _give_ him the money. This is one of those times. 

"We don't need the money. We don't need a car. We're _fine_." If she wasn't sitting next to him, she'd move her hand over his heart so he'd know she could hear his uncertainty. Instead, she keeps her head against his shoulder so that she can watch as he crosses out another class in Scott's column and writes a different time there instead. "We'll both take an 8:30 and hope someone can watch her those two days a week," he says when he speaks again. "Or else, I guess you'll just get really good at taking notes with one hand." He mimes holding a baby with his arm that isn't holding his pen, and she freezes.

It's something about the way he mimes it, or maybe it's the way he so casually talks about her holding the baby and doing something else at the same time. It's the shape his arm makes that is clearly meant to be holding a baby, but it's a shape her arm doesn't recognize. Or it's the easy way he mentions that she'll be able to do this with one arm, but she can't imagine doing it with two. Because sitting there with her legs crossed beneath her and that pup bump resting in her lap, being able to press against the side of said bump and feel the pup respond with a kick or a nudge, all of that feels good and right to her. But thinking about the pup being in her arms makes her heart race faster than his as her breath catches in the back of her throat. Because she's never done this before. She doesn't know if she _knows_ how to do this. 

This is why they were supposed to find her mom. _Before now_. 

"If we move your three o'clock, you can be with her in the afternoons," Stiles says because his eyes are still focused on the page, foot bouncing and pen tapping. But now, the words he's saying are being heard, but she's not retaining any of their information. "Yeah. This could work. How do you feel about another night class? Then you're only gone one night a week instead of three afternoons. What do you think?" 

She recognizes the feeling in the pit of her stomach and the tension building between her shoulders, and that's the real reason why her hand clamps down on his knee then. Or maybe it's the way her breathing is starting to get faster like it did that day in the motel, and she's starting to feel like it might be hard to breathe soon. Whatever the case, her only response to his question is her hand gripping his knee. 

"Ow! Okay! No night class - we'll think of something else. Just use your words. _Please_." His fingers wrap around his wrist, and he looks down at her hand - and then _he_ freezes. "Whoa," he says, eyes wide as he watches her hand on his knee. When she follows his gaze down, it's the first time she realizes that it's her claws.

Her claws are out. Sinking into his knee. There for anyone to see. Matching set on her other hand.

His eyes dart rapidly back and forth between her and the rest of the room, but she's already trying to retract them. "Put those away," he says as his eyes continue to move back and forth. " _Now_. Malia, seriously. Stop it." 

She swallows hard as she shakes her head. "I can't. I don't know how - " 

"What? What do you mean you don't know how?" His voice is impatient, and he's still only watching her half of the time. She curls her hands into fists so her fingers dig into her palms instead, but that feeling that she's about to shift is still everywhere. 

"I don't know how to hold her." 

As soon as she admits that out loud, everything flashes a little brighter and clearer and more distinct, and she knows without having to be told that her eyes are bright blue. Stiles's eyes grow wider in response. "Shit. Okay. We need to go. _Now_." Her body wants to shift, and her mind is filled with the weight of her inexperience, so it takes him putting his hands on her shoulders and physically guiding her body up and out of her seat for her to realize that she's supposed to be moving. "Do _not_ look at anyone," he warns in a harsh whisper. "And keep your hands like that." 

Stiles leads the way because all of her energy has been split between her efforts to stay human and her efforts to not absolutely freak out over this sudden realization that she knows next to nothing about babies. Her feet simply move where they're led, which happens to be out of the lecture hall and right into the room next door. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers the tile on the floor that continues halfway up the wall, and she knows that means they're in a bathroom, but even that is only a fleeting thought, quickly replaced by that gnawing fear. 

And that much more primal desire her body has to be in coyote form. 

"What the hell is going on?" he asks, and she growls before she can stop herself. His hands immediately go up in a show of surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Just try to calm down, okay? Deep breaths. I'm right here." 

He leaves her alone for the whole five seconds it takes to flip the lock on the door, and by the time he comes back, she's unfisted her hands so she can use his forearms as a physical anchor. It takes longer than it should to fight off that shift because she has to first make way through that fog of fear, but eventually she's clammy and a little short of breath but definitely human. 

"You okay?" he asks tentatively. Her hands clamp down a little harder on his arms when her knees shake. Maybe it took _a lot_ more energy than it normally does to fight her way back. "You gonna be sick?"

She shakes her head quickly. "I need to sit down." 

He sits down with her and rubs her back while he tries to catch his own breath. And he keeps stealing glances at her in a way that makes her feel like she should say something, but she doesn't know what to say. She doesn't do this. Panic is his area of expertise. _His_ shallow breathing and the way he's soothing himself by attempting to sooth her make sense because he's been two seconds away from a breakdown since the night she came to him and told him she wasn't feeling shifty. But now she can't breathe in motel rooms and conversations about the future leave her with claws and fangs. And she doesn't understand what happened to her. 

"How's Pup?" he asks. She looks up startled at the sound of his voice, and he nods towards her hand that's been moving over her bump in the same pattern as his hand against her back. 

She can't scent out the baby's emotions the same way she can Stiles's - probably because she doesn't have a scent to associate with the pup. But there's still an aura that she can sense sometimes, like there's at least extremes she can recognize. So she knows when the pup's at peace and when she doesn't like whatever's happening to upset her little world. This time, her frantic movements seem to lean towards the latter. 

"Unhappy. But fine." 

"What about you?" 

"I don't know." 

"What's going on?" He cranes his neck in an attempt to meet her gaze that fell to her bump instead of continuing to look over at him. "If it's the whole class thing, we'll figure it out, okay? Even if it means buying a car or leaving the pup with Derek." 

She shakes her head. "It's not that." 

"Okay... Then what is it?" 

"You said I could take notes while I hold her." 

"Mal, that was just a _joke_. I'll let Derek take her for the morning before I'll let you take her to class." 

She shakes her head a second time to stop him. "Stiles, you don't get it. I've never _held_ a baby before." 

He's silent as he watches her, and she wishes whatever he was feeling right now was more obvious. He always smells a little bit like nerves and a little bit like hope beneath everything else, but that's all she can sense right now. Whatever he's thinking isn't quite so obvious. 

"I'm sure you have," he says when he finally talks, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Everyone's held a baby." 

"Have you?" 

"Of course," he says. But then he stops and cocks his head to the side. She can sense the edge of his panic, but then it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "At least, I _think_ I have. There's gotta be a time when you did, too." 

"Not since Ella was a baby. And I barely even remember because I was three." Stiles has heard about her sister enough to know her by name. But she was also born almost two decades ago, so it's not like her experience has been recent. "And I've never changed a diaper. Or fed a baby. Or played with a baby. I don't know how to do _anything_." Twisting on the floor, she turns her whole body to face him, both of her hands cradling her middle where the pup is. "And now I have to be her _mom_." 

Stiles's eyes grow softer as he listens. When she's finished, he reaches out to tuck her hair back behind her ear. "It's okay," he says and gives a nod like maybe he's convincing himself too. "Because we'll figure it out. I've never taken care of a baby either, and I know nothing about being a dad. But we'll have help. And we'll figure it out." 

"But what if I'm not good at this?" That frantic feeling is back, making her feel like there's something in her chest trying to claw it's way out. 

"You will be." 

"But what if I'm not? And then she's already here and it's too late because I'm the only mom she gets." 

"Then we'll talk to Melissa and my dad and try to figure out some of this stuff before she's here." He leans a little closer as he moves his other hand to her cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth. "But you'll be great. You're the only mom she needs." 

She wants to trust his words, but she doesn't know how. It's not something he could already know, so she doesn't know how he could already be so convinced that she'll be a good mom. But she likes the idea of talking to Melissa. At least it's a start. 

"We have to find my mom," she says instead of responding to anything he's said. Because she still feels like this is the missing piece. There's something inside of her that knows her mom is still somewhere and that she probably has a lot of these answers, even if she spent very little of Malia's life with her. And they can't give up now - not when they had been so close. She _can't_ let the pack give up again. 

"We will," he promises. 

Silently, she vows not to forget it. 

\-----

Hormones are _so_ not his friend. 

Like seriously, he doesn't even know where they came from, but now they won't go away. He guesses they've actually been around for a while. Going back a few months, there were a handful of times when her eyes would get a little glassy over something she read or something they watched, and he knows she's always had a little bit of a temper, but she's snapped at him a couple times when she normally would've been way more patient. But now, she's had a human panic attack _and_ what he thinks is probably the werecoyote equivalent of a panic attack, and his own anxious state has had enough. 

It's not like he tells her that (Scott's eyes go wide as soon as he hears Stiles's _I've had it_ declaration and there's a lot of backing up to be done), and he doesn't blame her. They left the hospital the day Melissa confirmed she was pregnant, and Malia went home and wrote a freaking paper. A few weeks later when his dad knew and could barely look him in the eye for a few days, Malia was the one to comfort _him_. So the girl has earned her moment to lose it. He just wishes he was better equipped to handle her anxiety - but he's always been on the opposite side. 

Which is why he brings it up to Scott in the first place and then is forced to backpedal when Scott assumes the worst. Because the baby thing doesn't go away after that afternoon in class. He helps her pull her herself together and they make it back for the second half of the lecture, and the rest of the day she's just fine. But two days later, she reminds him that she's never held a baby, and when he counters with _well, you've never been pregnant before either_ , she doesn't go for it. So it comes up with Scott one afternoon in the library between classes after they've recapped all there is to add to the big pile of nothing they know about her mom's whereabouts (They're working on changing that nothing - His dad's trying to do what he can in regards to the assumed crime scene and Derek's even agreed to reach out to Braeden, even though Stiles is pretty sure the two haven't spoken since she picked her love of the search over him). Luckily for him, Scott's on his game that day. 

"I don't even know if _I've_ held a baby before," he scoffs at some point, fighting back the wave of panic that threatens to take over if he's not careful. 

"Dude. You have. I was there." And then Scott is letting his feet drop from the chair beside him and sitting up out of his reclined, slightly melted position with wide eyes. "Hey, you should really talk to my mom." 

And then, it's as easy as that. Melissa is willing to help, he can do this one thing for her, even if he still hasn't been able to do a thing about the mom situation. So maybe he can't will her anxiety into extinction, but he can try to eliminate the cause. Or at least one of them. 

He only tells her that he has a suprise for her before they leave, so he probably deserves the glare she gives him when he pulls up in front of one of her least favorite places in the world: Beacon Hills Memorial. "Why are we here?" she asks with so much skepticism in her voice, he kind of wants to kiss her. It's never mattered that she doesn't know as much as she thinks she should about being human; Malia doesn't hesitate to question anyone. _Ever_. And with only minor mishaps (see: Peter Hale) in her past, he never has to worry about her being forced into anything she doesn't want to do. Which is actually a blessing _and_ a curse, but that's a different issue for a different day. "I feel fine. The pup's fine too." 

"Just calm down before the claws make an appearance." He pulls the Jeep into a parking spot and puts it in park before he turns to face her. "I promise not to make you do anything against your will. Scout's honor," Stiles says as he holds up his fingers in what could very well actually be the Girl Scout sign. 

Malia's brows meet in the middle of her forehead. "What's a scout?" 

He sighs as he twists the key free of the ignition. "Not me," he says, his expression sheepish now as he looks back over at her. "They kicked me out. But I promise you will not have to interact with a single doctor." Before she can try to argue any more, he gets out of the car, jogging around to get her door for her. Surprisingly enough, there's no second battle waiting for him as she turns in her seat and uses one hand to brace herself against the side of the car and wraps the other arm around her pup bump as she gets out. 

"Then what are we doing here?" 

" _You_ are going to hold a baby." 

Because there are always babies in hospitals that need to be held, Melissa taught him that in a roundabout way a few years back on an afternoon that he has apparently blocked from his memory but Scott still remembers to this day. Sometimes, Stiles forgets that there was a time when Melissa McCall - the very same Melissa McCall who's now seeing his dad - had quite the reputation in Beacon Hills. He also tends to forget that she was younger than Stiles is now (by almost two years) when Scott was born, and that she was pregnant on her wedding day. Which explains why she's been a safe sex nazi with Scott (and Stiles whenever she had the opportunity) since long before he was ever actually having sex. So fall of their freshman year, when the two boys thought it was so incredibly cool to buy condoms from the vending machine at the seedy motel Coach put them up in for a tournament weekend long before either of them had a need for one, Melissa went a little ballistic when good old Scott left it in plain sight in his room. And when he labeled Stiles as his accomplice in his confession, Stiles also had to do the time in the form of an afternoon spent here holding a baby who had been left under the anonymity of the Safe Haven law that morning. As soon as Scott mentioned it that day in the library, Stiles immediately remembered the way Melissa had somehow managed to glare at both of them at the same time while repeating her mantra of _If you're not ready for **that** , don't even think about it_ the whole way home. 

It's advice that would've been more helpful for Stiles to have remembered a few months back, but Melissa is still more than willing to help the two of them spend an afternoon as volunteers. Because there's always babies who are born to parents who choose adoption at the last minute or babies who are born to parents who later abandon them at the nearest hospital or babies who are born to mothers who got them hooked on their first drug months ago. Bottom line, there are babies who have no one to hold them, so they're always looking for volunteers - even in a hospital as small as this. Maybe he can't find her mother no matter he tries, but he can get a baby into her arms. 

Malia is hard to read on the way inside and then up to the right floor, but at least she doesn't try to fight him. Of course, he's still not the smartest, and he can't resist himself when they're waiting outside the nursery for Melissa. Or maybe it's the insane amount of anxiety that he feels staring at those rows of tiny, tiny babies and knowing that he'll be the _father_ of one in a matter of weeks. "See?" he says as he gives Malia's shoulder a gentle bump. "Pup could hang out here, make some new friends." 

Malia's bottom lip curls back in a snarl as soon as the words have left his mouth, and he holds his hands up in a show of surrender before she can go full-on shift on him. "Hey, it's just an option. We should keep those open." She turns back to look at the nursery window without growling or baring her teeth again, which is good. At least maybe she's considering other alternatives so there won't be a huge argument when he sits her down to tell her that the hospital is really the _only_ option. "We should use our words, too," he says, more to himself than to her, but her hearing picks it up, and it earns him another cold glare. Needles to say, he's incredibly grateful for the distraction that appears over her shoulder then in the form of Melissa. 

But Malia's not growling at anyone when they're in a back corner of the nursery ten minutes later and she's settled into a rocking chair that was already there waiting. In fact, she looks like she's the one who was growled at, her fight gone for a rare moment. But he doesn't blame her because he's starting to feel a little nauseous himself. There's just too many babies - too many _small brand new_ babies that are too big of a reminder of where his life is headed. 

Even in the midst of her own anxiety, though, she manages to catch onto his, and she sends him a pointed look. "Don't start panicking." 

"Me?" he asks, palm pressed to his chest. "I'm not panicking. _You_ don't start panicking." 

"I'm not panicking." 

"Hey, no one is going to panic," Melissa says as she returns, an impossibly small bundle in her arms. "Not in front of this little guy." The baby in her arms is fast asleep, tiny hand pressed to a tiny cheek. Between the blanket and the little cap on its little head, not much more than that tiny hand and that tiny face are visible, but it's implied that the rest of the baby is just as tiny, and Stiles feels his chest grow a little tight. "He came yesterday, four weeks ahead of schedule, and a freak snowstorm in April has his adoptive parents stuck in Chicago. So, he's with us for now." Melissa looks up from the baby in her arms to offer Malia a warm smile. "You ready?" 

Malia's eyes go straight to him instead of answering Melissa's question, and Stiles feels like he can almost taste the panic attack she's on the verge of. He silently wills her to keep it together, offering a little nod of encouragement as he steps a little closer. Finally, with a lot of hesitation, she gives Melissa a nod. 

"Okay. I'm going to hand him to you, and you're just going to wrap your arms around him. You'll keep your arm under his head because he can't hold it up on his own yet." Malia listens with the same rapt attention he's watched her use in class or when she's pouring over that same baby book late at night. She's desperate to get this right, and her dedication tugs at his heart. He holds his breath as the baby changes hands, but Malia is a quick study. Her arm comes up to support the baby's head, her other arm cradles his little body as she pulls him closer to her chest. He never even stirs in his little blanket coccoon. 

"Like this?" she asks, eyes wide as she looks back at Melissa. 

Melissa offers another smile. "Perfect." 

Malia smiles a smile that he's familiar with - one that proves she's proud of herself for doing this well, and then her eyes go back to the baby in her arms. 

And Stiles's breath catches in the back of his throat. 

It's a knee-jerk reaction, the way he feels a little choked up all of a sudden as he watches the way she gently rocks back and forth and her index finger moves back and forth over that tiny little hand pressed to that tiny little cheek. But it hits him all at once. That this is going to be his _life_ in three months. That she looks so peaceful sitting there with a baby in her arms. That inspite of all the panic, she's proving to be a natural. That the next baby she holds like this will be _his_. 

And how the hell is he supposed to feel about that? 

He rubs the back of his neck because he needs to be doing _something_ while Melissa explains that the baby's been fed and changed, so they should be fine for the few minutes she needs to go check on a patient, and if not, then there are two very capable nurses on the opposite side of the room they can yell for. "Thanks, Melissa," he says as she's on her way out, and then it's just the two of them. 

Malia steals a quick glance at him as soon as Melissa is gone, her expression the same as before. "No panicking." 

It must be his racing heart that she hears because he has to admit, it feels a little like a panic attack. His breathing was a little shallow when he finally remembered to breathe again, and his heart is still beating at full-speed. The difference is, he knows this isn't all nerves this time. He holds up his hands like he did outside the nursery in a second show of surrender. "No panicking," he promises as he moves still closer to where she's sitting. "So? How does it feel?" 

"Fine," she says without having to stop to think about her answer. Her eyes go back to the baby in her arms, and he can just barely catch the way she tenses when he stirs in his sleep. But he doesn't wake up or make a sound, and he realizes when he exhales that he had been the one holding his breath. "He's so _small_." 

"Like _seriously_ small," he agrees. "Feel free to keep Pup in there for the next thirteen weeks. None of this 'four weeks early' stuff." 

She nods seriously in response the same way she did when Melissa was talking. There's a twinge of regret in the pit of his stomach to match it. Malia's better with sarcasm and jokes now, but she still has a tendency to take things more literally than she should. So Stiles makes a mental note to let her know later that he's kidding. Four weeks early sounds like a nightmare, but he knows she really doesn't have much control over Pup's decision to come wherever and whenever and however she pleases. And he doesn't need her feeling like she did something wrong now if Pup's debut is ahead of schedule. 

Stiles wants to ask her another question, but her eyes are glued to that little face, and he doesn't want to take this moment away from her. He wants to let her bask in the relief he hopes she's feeling, to revel in the natural way her arms molded themselves around that baby, to relax just a little about these changes that are coming. When he does talk, his voice is softer than before, and he's not asking her a question. "You're gonna be great with her." 

Malia doesn't lift her eyes or say anything in response, but that's progress for her. He's not met with a fearful expression or the question of _but how do you really **know** that_? She just takes it as fact, like when he taught her that people knock before entering a door or that it's necessary to put her clothes back on before she leaves his room. Or like he told her that he loved her for the first time in the middle of their senior year when she had just been laying there quietly, racking up a fine on the Chemistry book she was running her highlighters over. She just trusts him. 

The baby stirs like he might start to fuss a couple times, but she never gets flustered, even though Stiles can feel a knot start to form in the pit of his own stomach each time. But Malia acts like it's the most natural thing in the world when she just starts to rock again or she pats his little back the same way Melissa had subconsciously the whole time hse was talking to them. Stiles is starting to wonder if it'll be a struggle to get her to give the baby _up_ when Melissa appears again, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "So what do you think?" she asks him. "Ready for a turn?" 

And when Malia looks up expectantly at him, what other choice does he have? 

When Melissa places the baby in his arms, his knees buckle. "Oh my god," he says as his arms automatically wrap a little tighter around the baby. Seriously, nothing this tiny should exist - or be in his arms. But Melissa has more faith in him than he has in himself. 

"Hey," she says as she looks up at him, hands against his arms. "Just relax. He knows if you're nervous. You're doing fine." 

Melissa's words of wisdom are easier said then done as he holds himself stiffly, afraid to move and disturb the sleeping infant. It's a solid two minutes before he feels like he can look away from the baby and not drop him, but he can tell Malia's been watching him this whole time. She's also been listening to his heart that is bound and determined to beat right out of his chest, judging by the way she places her own hand over her heart. Her subtle way of reminding him that there is no panicking today. 

"I'm fine," he tells her, a little more forcefully than he originally intended to. The baby stirs in his arms, and Stiles tenses again, eyes going back down to the baby. He cautiously waits until he's sure the baby is still out before he talks again, looking back to Melissa. "She won't be this small, right?" 

"He's a pretty good size for being so early. A little over six pounds. He's pretty average." 

"Oh. _Great_." It's so not the answer he's looking for, but Malia's at his side by then, drawn to the baby like there's some magnetic force at play there. She studies the baby in the same way he's watched her study so many other aspects of human life she missed out on growing up, and she asks Melissa question after question. Some of them he catches, but most of them go in one ear and out the other because the real task at hand is making sure he doesn't drop that baby. And he's more than ready to pass him back over to Melissa when he really starts to fuss. 

But it's worth it when Malia's kissing him as soon as they're out the door, hands holding his face, her bump pressed against his front so she's as close as she can get. It's all the thanks he really needs. 

He pulls away from her with a smile, feeling just a little proud of this latest plan that could have backfired horribly but didn't. "So, hey. You've held a baby. You did good." 

"You did too." 

In a few days' time, there will be another revelation, something else she doesn't know how to do, and they'll be back to where they were. But for now, she's back to the Malia he knows, totally 100 percent at peace with this huge change that's closer now than he cares to think about most of the time. And if he could do that for her, maybe they really will survive all of this. 

Now, they just have to find her mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading and leaving kudos and comments! I always love hearing what you think.
> 
> Just a quick note- I'm participating in the Rare Pair Exchange. The rest of this fic is outlined and partially written, so hopefully, updates will stay pretty regular. But if for some reason it takes a while, just know that it's because I'm working on my Exchange fic and not because I jumped ship. ;)


	7. Seventh Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This chapter has been a long time coming, and I know the wait has been much longer than the previous six. It's been a busy time of year for me post-holidays, and as the story is _starting_ to come to a close, it's taking a little more time and effort to make sure everything comes together the way it is supposed to. I am hoping that the next chapter won't take quite as long, but in the meantime, know that the story is completely outlined and I have no plans to abandon it before it's completion. Thank you again for the love you leave in kudos and comments. Enjoy! :)

With two weeks left in the semester, Stiles's perfect Friday night would be spent forgetting that there's only two weeks left in the semester - and then forgetting that his next semester will begin in the fall when there's a six week old baby at home. Friday night is meant to be soaking up every last minute of this sweet, ,em>sweet freedom that is quickly slipping through their fingers. Preferably, Friday night would be spent with Malia naked in their bed while he goes down on her until she finally relents and stops flip-flopping between freaking out about her finals and freaking out about everything they still have to accomplish in their last twelve baby-free weeks. Or it would be spent helping her to work out her frustrations by letting her be on top and in complete control of this one aspect of their life. 

He really just wants to sex his girlfriend until he forgets that the number twelve exists. 

Instead, it's Friday night, and he's in his dad's office, feet up on the desk and a file folder in his hands that he will swear on the life of his unborn pup had been laying on the desk in plain sight. And Malia is currently somewhere within a two mile radius of his home with his best friend. Happy Friday to him. 

Not too long ago, this would've been the norm on a Friday when his dad was working late. He'd show up with takeout and then try to snoop through whatever case files his dad was currently working on whenever he stepped out of the room. What's weird is that now his dad's coworkers who used to ask him about school and lacrosse and his weekend plans now ask him about Malia and the baby and _your dad says twelve more weeks, right_? before letting him know that his dad is on his way back to the station, so he should be there any minute. Even here, he can't escape the number - 

"Get your feet off my desk." 

With his back to the door and his attention focused solely on the folder in his hands, Stiles has no warning until his dad's voice is there right behind him. His feet fly off the desk fast enough to make him lose his balance, and he catches himself on his knee and his free hand when he falls out of the chair. Without missing a beat, he pops back to his feet and shoves the folder behind his back. "Heyyy, Dad. I - " 

"I'll take that back too." He holds out his hand expectantly, and Stiles fumbles over himself in an attempt to feign ignorance. "The folder, Stiles. _Now_." With a reluctant sigh, he relinquishes it back over to his dad, wishing he had thought to fly through the folder taking pictures instead of reading through every single name on the first two pages. "What are you doing here?" his dad asks as he moves back around his desk, setting the folder down so it's just out of Stiles's reach before sitting down in his chair. 

This question is much easier to answer. Stiles doesn't hesitate at all as he reaches for the takeout bag sitting on the corner of the desk. "I brought dinner." 

"Where's Malia?" 

As he settles back into the chair on the opposite side of the desk, Stiles fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks to make sure he didn't miss the text she knows she's supposed to send. His screen tells him she's either still with Scott or she forgot. "She wanted to run when we got home. So she's with Scott. And I thought, 'Hey, Dad's working late. Why don't I surprise him?'" 

"So you came just to snoop through my things." 

"What? _Me_? Would I ever do anything like that?" His dad's expression never changes as he leans back in his chair, giving Stiles all he needs to know that his dad thinks that's _exactly_ what he would do. Stiles sighs because honestly, admitting to snooping would be a whole lot easier than telling his dad he showed up here alone because he's probably the last person Malia wants to spend her Friday night with. He rubs a hand over his face, making his words sound mumbled when he talks. "There may have been a _minor_ disagreement after her appointment." 

"Ah," his dad says, losing some of that tension that usually accompanies a lecture as he realizes his confession-eliciting tactics won’t be needed. Stiles thinks his expression might even soften a little, which is kind of nice if it's true, because he just assumes that _everyone_ else assumes he's the most likely source of the conflict. "Wanna talk about it?" 

He doesn't _think_ he wants to talk about it, but on second thought, he would've just moved to another part of the house and given her some space or crashed Scott's date night with Allison if he really didn't want to tell his dad. Even Stiles can admit that he needs some help at this point. "I mean, it started out fine," he says as he watches the way his dad starts pulling things out of the takeout bag so Stiles never has to feel like his full attention is on him - another tactic to get him to talk. But it's working. "If you're wondering, your grandpup weighs two pounds now, she's head down - I mean, she's not down in there yet," he explains as he brings his hands together in a kind of arrow shape and then motions downwards a few times for emphasis. "So she's not quite locked and loaded and ready to go." 

He stops as his dad looks up from the task at hand, his expression incredulous. "Really, Stiles?" 

Stiles raises an eyebrow in his dad's direction. "Do you really want me to use the term _birth canal_?"

"No. So stop it." His dad sighs as he drops his head again, pushing a burger and fries across the desk to Stiles before crumpling up the bag and dropping it in the trash. "What _didn't_ go well?"

"Well, after the doctor said Pup is head down but she's not engaged in the _birth canal_ ," he continues with a smirk, "He suggested we take a tour of the hospital." 

"Sounds like a good idea. Especially for you,” his dad says, pointing at Stiles to emphasize his point. “You don’t need any more anxiety than you already have. Trust me.” 

Stiles holds his hands up, palms facing his father. "Hey, I wasn't the one who said no." Then he watches as his dad's brows come together in a show of confusion. 

" _She_ did?" 

"They pay you the big bucks for these impressive detective skills, don't they, Pops?" 

His dad ignores his sarcasm as he leans back in his chair with another sigh. He's ready for his dad's sympathy now. He's so ready to be labeled a saint for what he's put up with so far and praised for keeping his cool when she made it so incredibly difficult. But then his dad has to go and choose the wrong side. "Stiles, that poor girl is probably scared out of her mind, and - " 

"Oh no," Stiles says, cutting off his dad before he can go any farther down this "Let's feel bad for Malia" road. "There's no fear. Fear would be _fantastic_. Fear would seriously be so great, you don't even know. But she’s not scared.” His heart starts to pound a little as he remembers the way she looked at him in the Jeep, not even the smallest trace of fear in her voice when she told him that until he was the one carrying the pup, he didn’t get to make this decision. That was also the point where he lost it a little. “And how about we talk about poor Stiles, okay? Poor Stiles who keeps telling her that humans have babies in hospitals." 

Stiles doesn't know if he's ever seen his dad's eyes this wide before. " _Oh_." 

Stiles swallows hard and his eyes roll towards the ceiling so he doesn’t have to look at his dad. "She hates the hospital and she hates doctors, and now, she’s set on having the baby somewhere else. Like my bed.” 

"Absolutely _not_." 

"That’s what I keep telling her!” 

“It’s not safe.” 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Stiles says, relieved to finally have someone see it his way. Because these discussions have gotten seriously exhausting when all they do is ride this merry-g0-round whose soundtrack is the perfect harmony of her stubbornness and his inability to give in. "This is what I've been telling her for months." 

Dinner is forgotten as his dad leans back in his chair, wearing the kind of pained expression that Stiles thinks he's adopted to cover for moments of panic and worry. "She can't honestly think this is a good idea," his father says as Stiles's foot settles into a steady bounce. It's one thing to think that his girlfriend is fixated on the worst idea of the century, but it's another to hear his dad say as much in not quite so many words. " _This_ is what you two were fighting about?" 

His knee starts to bounce a little faster after the reminder of the fight. "Kind of?" He came with takeout to hopefully snoop a _little_ bit and give his mind something to work over other than the disagreement with Malia on the way home, so he didn't prepare for this conversation. Now, he's not sure if he should start with the part where he lost it and it actually became a fight, the part where she told the doctor they didn't need a tour, or the part where she declared she wasn't giving birth in a hospital months ago, followed by the part where he really thought he'd have convinced her that humans have babies in hospitals by now. He settles on the first option because his dad doesn't need to know he failed at anything else. "Lydia made some comment about how she should get to choose the pup's name because she's the one carrying the pup, but now it's Malia's favorite response to any argument. So she used it tonight when I said that she needs to have the baby in a hospital, and I got frustrated. _Then_ it became a fight." 

His dad shakes his head, and Stiles starts to drum his fingers on his knee that's not bouncing because 1) this is becoming a seriously awkward conversation and 2) there's always the chance that his dad thinks he's the one in the wrong for turning it into a fight. But he doesn't. "You two need to be making these decisions together. Who cares what Lydia says?" 

"Apparently, Malia." 

"Well, this isn't Lydia's baby." His dad wags his finger to emphasize his point, and Stiles's head keeps the same rhythm as he nods emphatically. But then it's like his dad realizes all at once what they're really talking about, and he tips forward in his chair to lean across the desk. "In the _house_? She wants to have the baby _in the house_?" 

"Don't worry," Stiles offers with a sarcastic wink. "Lydia taught her all about homebirth, too. So now she can argue back that some humans are also crazy enough to pop their kids out at home." His dad rocks back in his chair again, and Stiles brings his thumb up to his mouth, biting the skin next to his nail. When they sit there in silence without his dad telling him to stop, he knows his anxiety is warranted. He only stops long enough to offer his only suggestion of a solution. "You should just lock her up until my pup's born." 

His dad makes a face in response. "On the grounds of _what_?" 

"Aiding and abetting," he says because it's the first thing that comes to mind. But on second thought, that actually works. What started as an off-hand comment becomes a pretty solid idea as he thinks about Lydia locked away, unable to keep filling Malia's impressionable little head with more of her feminist wisdom.   
Stiles leans forward, suddenly much more animated. "For the aiding and abetting of my girlfriend in all pup matters." He raises an eyebrow in his dad's direction, pretty proud of his quick lawyer work, creating a defense for locking Lydia away. 

Unfortunately, his dad's not nearly as thrilled. 

"Well, good luck getting that held up in any court. And this is between you and Malia." His dad stares at him without really looking at him at all, a contemplative look born from years spent on the force. It's an expression that he knows well, one that Malia once said makes him look the most like his dad because apparently Stiles has mastered the look as well. Stiles is silent except for the occasional squeak of his heel against the linoleum floor, ready and waiting for whatever suggestion his dad may have. 

"Has she talked to Melissa at all?" 

It's not quite what Stiles is looking for, but he'll take it. "Sometimes. I think she's called her a couple times." His foot starts bouncing a little faster. Melissa is great - if he's honest, he'd have to admit that they probably would've both lost it at this point if it weren't for her. But she's Scott's mom. Sure, she's dating his dad, but she can't stand in as a substitute for either of their own mothers. "But that's the problem - she doesn't really have anyone to talk to about this stuff. And if you haven't noticed, I've never been pregnant," he says with a sarcastic wave of his hand to match the sarcastic tone of his voice. But instead of making another joke, Stiles sighs, sinking a little lower in the chair. "I wish Mom was here." 

"Me too, kid. Me too."

She's been gone now for nearly half his life, but there are still times right now when he aches for her so much, it takes his breath away. His mom would've been someone for Malia to talk to. She would've understood her fears, and she would've known what to say to her to boost her confidence or ease her fears or convince her that babies are meant to be born in hospitals in the 21st century. She would've been what Stiles needs right now - what they both need right now. 

"Have her talk to Melissa," his dad volunteers instead because they've always been good at picking themselves up and moving on. "And ask her to take you two on a tour. Trust me, you need it." 

Stiles nods, stomach doing a somersault at just the idea of being in the hospital, awaiting Pup's birth. A tour every day from here until she's born wouldn’t be enough for him to feel any less anxious. "Will do," he promises instead of confessing to that anxiety, feeling better now that there's at least a tentative plan in place. "Melissa's the best, you know that, right? Like we need her in our lives for the rest of forever, so you better not screw this up." 

“Don't plan to." 

He feels so much freaking better about this whole baby thing now that he has his dad in his court and a solid plan in place to tackle this whole disagreement once and for all. So _much_ better that he has a fry halfway to his mouth before he realizes that this is the most they've ever talked about Melissa... like, _ever_. At least, ever in this capacity. As in, as his dad's girlfriend and not his best friend's mom or his savior or the reason why he's probably still alive today, given the outrageous number of childhood accidents she assisted in. "What do you plan to do?" he asks curiously around a mouthful of fry. "You gonna put a ring on it?" 

His dad raises his eyebrow in a silent challenge. "Are you?" 

Stiles scoffs. "C'mon, Dad. We're having a _baby_. One major life change at a time, okay?" Just the mention of a ring is still enough to make his heart race, but he tries to ignore it as his dad nods his approval of their decision. "Even if I wanted to, Malia probably wouldn't go for it because Lydia told her it would be _archaic_." 

"She _said_ that?" 

Stiles nods, tight-lipped and a little indignant because didn't he just make it clear to his dad that Lydia Martin is all kinds of evil? "You think she's so great, but I'm telling you: you need to lock her up." 

"You need to talk to Malia," his dad reminds him, pointing at him with his index finger for emphasis. And Stiles knows that he's right. He'll talk to her; actually, tonight, she'll probably have forgotten they're supposed to be fighting, and he'll take advantage of that, love her just enough so that his guilty conscience won't keep him up. But he'll talk to her about this, too. 

Because they have twelve weeks now, no matter how much he wants to avoid that number, and they really need a plan. 

\----- 

A week later, there's not much of a plan. 

But there's finals, and they might finally be getting somewhere on the mom front, and honestly, she hasn't mentioned anything that brings to mind cardboard boxes or a place under the stairs, so the hope becomes that maybe she just forgot. Or she changed her mind. Or by the time she brings it up again, he’ll have found a foolproof way to say no. 

In the meantime, there’s still finals. Which were the bane of Stiles’s existence _long_ before there was ever a pup well on her way. Most movies exceed his limit for sitting still and focusing, and there’s a whole lot less happening on the pages of a final exam. But this semester, he's succeeded in backing himself into the kind of corner that only finals could get him out of. Really, he's just glad they're not any worse. Because he started the semester when he was still having panic attacks over Malia's pregnancy on a regular basis, missed a few days somewhere in the middle when they were convinced the pup was gone, and is now ending it with the anxiety-inducing realization that between the end of this semester and the beginning of the next, his girlfriend's gonna have a baby. So he could have tanked his GPA far worse by now, and he's not going to talk about the fact that Malia's grades are still just fine at the moment. 

Instead, he finds himself taking finals week more seriously than he ever has before. Most of the time, he's the one trying to convince Malia that a quickie between writing that essay and studying for that exam will probably improve her concentration, or telling Scott they'll both be fine if they put off preparing for their presentation till the morning of. But this time, his finals mean the difference between finishing school next December like he potentially could or spending time away from Pup the following spring when he has to retake a handful of failed classes. 

So he's a drill sergeant tonight. He and Scott and Malia put off their one Lit class till Junior year for good reason, but now their group presentation is in two days, and Stiles's anxiety over the possible fate of his grades wasn't great enough to make him finish reading their group's assigned novel. Scott is beside him on the couch, still trying to make sense of the half of the novel he actually did read, and Stiles has very little patience for the way Malia conveniently disappeared up the stairs right before Scott got there. 

"C'mon, Malia!" he calls in the direction of the stairs for the third time. "You're the only person who read this!" He's furiously typing as he yells for her, pulling up the page for SparkNotes on the book to fill in the gap of the _entire book_ that exists in his knowledge bank. Scott isn't promising to be much more helpful, looking totally confused as he leafs through the novel that they were supposed to have read together this semester. When he's been on the same page for a while and looks no more intelligent, Stiles nudges him with his elbow. "Dude. Didn't you say you read half of it?" 

"I _did_ read half. I never said I understood it." Scott leans forward so he can jab Stiles in the side in response. "You think you should, like, check on her or something?" 

"She's fine. And we need to get this done. Did you at least get to the war?" 

"There's a war?" 

"Yeah, for like two thirds of the book, according to this." Stiles's eyes scan the rest of the page furiously, eyes growing wider the more he reads. "Holy shit. The baby and the wife die in the end. Malia actually _read_ this?" At the mention of her name, Stiles sighs, eyes going back to the stairs."Hey, Malia! We're not doing the work for you!" 

Truthfully, this isn't like Malia. The past three years, she's been determined to keep up with them, even when it's meant having to work twice as hard. So of course, she was the only one to read the entire book, and she might not have any idea how to format their presentation, but she's the only one who can supply information from the book. Which they could probably use right about now. So there's a very grateful sigh when he hears her feet hitting the stairs - 

\- And then it's short lived when she stops at the bottom. Her voice is hesitant, not the strong force-to-be-reckoned-with he knows his girlfriend to be. "Stiles, I don't feel good." 

Immediately, he groans. "Malia, we're not playing this game. You're _fine_ ," he tells her without ever looking away from the screen of his laptop, not even when he pats the couch cushion next to him in invitation. "Now, sit your little coyote ass down and do this for us." 

But it’s Scott who speaks up, not Malia. "Hey, man... I don't think she's kidding.” It’s like Stiles can feel the way his nonexistent fur stands straight up. Some wolfy part of Scott’s brain's been set on high alert, but Stiles has been fooled into thinking she's sick or shifty one too many times in the past few months. 

"Don't do it, Scotty," he warns, eyes still glued to the screen. "Don't be manipulated by the pup bump. She's good at this. Too good." 

" _Stiles_." 

There's something about the way she says his name that second time that makes him feel like his even less existent fur is standing straight up, so he steals a glance in her direction - and then immediately does a double take. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are wide, and Stiles swears he can see the way her hands shake from here. Something is obviously wrong, and she's freaked out enough for him to skip straight over the part where he'd normally feel slightly guilty for thinking the worse of her. 

"You’re serious? Do you feel shifty?" The words are barely out of his mouth before she starts shaking her head. He wracks his brain for another idea so he can just ignore the sprinting speed his heart has settled into. "Are you nauseous?" Once again, Malia starts to shake her head, but then she stops, wincing as her hand flies up to rest against the side of her swollen middle. His heart gives up its race and drops down into his stomach instead. "Malia..." He says hesitantly as he starts to stand up from the couch. "Malia, does something hurt?" 

"No," she says, rubbing at that same spot, her features still contorted into an expression of discomfort. And then she reconsiders. "I don't know. Everything's really tight." 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, tight registers as synonymous with _not good_. Scott followed his lead and got to his feet, and now, he can feel his friend's eyes on the side of his face. There's a question there about what they should do, but Stiles doesn't know how to answer it. He's too busy trying to resist the strong desire his knees have to cave on him right now. It's a battle he nearly loses when he makes the connection between _tight_ and _contractions_ , one of the many anxiety-inducing passages from the book fighting its way to the front of his mind. "Here. Come sit down." His voice takes on an authoritative tone to hide his impending panic, but it's not really a bad thing when she listens and takes the spot on the couch where he just was. He sits down on the edge of the coffee table so he can face her, resting a hand against her pup bump where it feels like the pup is throwing a pup-sized fit just beneath her skin. "Do you think it's contractions?" he asks tentatively through a forced calm. "It kind of sounds like contractions." 

"I don't know." Tears are already starting to well in her eyes, and on instinct, he scoots closer to the edge of the table. His knee moves in between hers so their legs can share the same space. "It's uncomfortable. And Pup doesn't like it." 

"Her heart's racing, too," Scott volunteers. 

"Malia's or the baby's?" 

"The baby's," Malia and Scott both respond in unison. 

"Malia's, too," Scott adds a little quieter. Stiles meets his eyes again, a second unspoken question passing between them. Scott understands this one, too. "The baby seems fine," he adds as he takes the spot beside Stiles on the coffee table. "I can't feel anything." 

"Well, hey, that's good news, right?" Stiles offers as his other hand moves to her knee. But Malia isn't convinced. She also admits right away to not having told him when she first started to not feel well, and that she slipped upstairs when he was busy studying for another final in hopes that it would just go away. And she doesn't know how many she's had or what time it started, but she knows she's never felt this tightness before. They were doing _so well_ , too, he thinks in the middle of several awkward silences because she's still on the verge of freaking out, but there's nothing they can do in this interim when she feels fine. After that last scare, there were a few tense weeks when they kept track of when the pup moved with a chart on his board and post-it notes all over everything, and they called Melissa a few more times than they should have, but lately, they've started to relax more. Malia can always find her heartbeat and she moves almost constantly now. And Malia's doctor has referred to her pregnancy as textbook - and received a blank stare in return - more than once. So they stopped worrying. 

Just in time for this to happen. 

Ten minutes pass like that with Stiles asking questions when he thinks of them and a heavy silence occupying the spaces in between. His knee starts to bounce more than once, and she reaches out to clamp her hand around it every time, making him stop. "You think it stopped?" he asks hopefully after the fifth time she's dug her nails into his leg. 

"I don't know." 

"Should I call my mom?" Scott asks in a whisper. Stiles has to bite his tongue to keep from offering a sarcastic reminder that she has the same superhuman hearing Scott has and could hear him whispering from across the street. 

"Let's wait and see if it happens again." 

It does happen again. Almost another ten minutes passes, and the tightness has almost disappeared from Stiles's chest when he feels the way everything beneath his hand grows hard. " _Shit_ ," he reacts without thinking first. "This is what's happening? Does it hurt?" 

"I don't think so. It just feels tight." He watches as she bites her lip, loses her confidence, becomes frustrated with herself. "I don't know." 

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay," he offers before he nudges Scott with his elbow a second time. "Scott, touch her." 

" _What_?" 

Stiles looks away from Malia to give Scott a pointed look. He's never questioned his best friend's ability to be the pack's alpha, but sometimes he really wonders how Scott's made it through three years of college. " _Touch. Her_. See if you can take her pain." 

"Oh. Right." Scott's fingers curl around her wrist, but nothing happens. Five seconds later, Stiles feels the way her body relaxes again as it comes to a stop. Scott gives a shake of his head to confirm that there was no pain there. 

"What's _happening_?" Malia asks. There's a desperation in her voice that only adds to the guilt that Stiles is still carrying somewhere there in the very back corner of his mind. On some level, he knows that they're both equally responsible for this major life change they're headed for. But he also knows that she's the one who's pregnant, and when there are things like this that she truly doesn't understand, there's a nice insistent voice in the back of his head to remind him that he's the reason she feels like this. 

"Malia," he starts as gently as possible, tucking her hair back behind her ear with his free hand. "I think you're having contractions." 

"But that's not supposed to happen now. She's too little. She's not ready." Her eyes flash a brilliant blue to match the urgent tone of her voice. It happens sometimes now when she talks about the pup or - more often - when he says something she doesn't agree with about the pup, and he's filed it away for their next conversation about her maternal insecurities. For now, he focuses on the fact that she's clearly read the book Allison gave her enough times to know what a contraction is, even if she doesn't know what one feels like. At least he's spared that awkward conversation. 

"I know, I know. We're gonna call Melissa, okay?" They need to call Melissa. They need to call his dad. They need to call Lydia so her inner banshee is on high alert. They need to find a way to stop this. They need - 

He forgets what else they need to do when the sound of the front door opening cuts through his thoughts. All three of them look up in unison to see Melissa and his dad. Somehow, she's able to recall the fact that he knew the two of them were together tonight because Melissa somehow talked his dad into joining her coed softball team and there's always practice on Thursday. And he hopes that Malia can feel his relief in seeing familiar faces. Maybe she can even steal a little for herself. 

"Do I even want to know what's going on?" Melissa asks from where they've both stopped just inside the door, and Stiles looks down to realize that they've all stayed just the way they are. His hand is still pressed to Malia's middle while Scott's is still wrapped around her wrist, Malia clearly the sole focus of their attention and their project altogether forgotten. 

Both he and Scott are on their feet in seconds. Scott tells his mom, "Something's wrong," at the same time that Stiles says, "Malia's having contractions," and Melissa somehow understands both of them. Her amused expression gives way to a much more serious one, and Stiles could seriously kiss her out of sheer relief when she moves right into the middle of the action, taking the vacated spot on the coffee table. She starts her own game of 20 Questions with Malia, but Stiles sits down beside her, coaching her through it. When she feels it happen again, they're able to tell Melissa that more than 15 minutes passes between them, and with the added knowledge that she's just uncomfortable and not in pain, Melissa rules that it's nothing to worry about. She recommends a glass of water, a warm bath, time off her feet instead of the trip to the ER Stiles had been ready for. She tells them it's Malia's body preparing for when the baby really decides to come, and Stiles's relief gives way to a split second of lightheaded anxiety. She warns Malia of possible causes, like too much walking or not enough water or sex, and Stiles is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that his dad is still in the room. When Malia worries that she should've known Pup was just fine, Melissa tells her stories of making it all the way to the hospital twice before Scott was born because she was that sure she was in labor. 

For what's far from being the first or the last time, Stiles is incredibly grateful for the pack they've formed - parents included - that is seriously getting them through this one moment of sheer panic at a time. 

By the time he’s literally collapsing on the couch next to Scott, Malia’s giving the bath thing a valiant effort and Stiles is trying to assure himself that a few weeks without sex isn’t the end of the world. He's also trying to ignore how weird it feels to be down here with Scott instead of sprawled out on his bed, but now that it's Malia's room, too, it feels even weirder to have Scott on her side of the bed. But he's starting to reach a point where he's almost too exhausted to care because really, he should just be embracing the fact that 1) everything is just fine and 2) this is enough to get them an extension on their final presentation. He's about to voice this aloud when Scott fills the silence instead. 

"Is she okay?" he asks, looking as tired as Stiles feels where he's slouched on the other side of the couch. 

"Yeah," Stiles says with a sigh. He lets his head fall back against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. It's not like he's going to fall asleep on Scott. Stiles is starting to feel like he might not sleep again for eleven weeks. "Pup's gonna stay put for now." 

"How much longer do you guys have, man?" 

"Eleven weeks. July 21st." His stomach threatens to revolt at the mention of the date. July was a safe distance away from December when he heard the date for the first time. It's a whole hell of a lot closer to May, where they are now. 

Scott is silent, and Stiles starts to wonder if he really did fall asleep right before he finally speaks again. "It's weird," he says, sounding contemplative enough for Stiles to open his eyes and look back over at him. "You were so calm about it, dude. You're good at this. You guys are, like, parents already." 

His first reaction is to argue that he wasn't so calm, he _really_ wasn't. He could actually use a second Adderall right now or maybe he should skip right to Xanax. And he's not good at this, not yet, anyways. Now that he's thinking about drugs, he's thinking about Melissa's offer back when Pup was barely the size of a peanut, and he's wondering if her offer still stands because that might be the only way he makes it from here to the finish line. And he's so not a parent right now. 

He's starting to feel like he might never be. 

But he's too tired tonight. Too stuck in the relief that comes with knowing that the pup is just fine now. Scott can have this one tonight. He'll save his energy for another night, another argument. 

Like maybe finally settling on a plan. 

\----- 

A week later, they still don't have a plan, and it's not because of any cramps. A few hours after the cramps start, they’re gone and they don’t come back, but Stiles doesn’t care. A week later, he hasn't let Malia out of his sight for more than five minutes at a time, and the fact that he's sleeping for more than an hour at a time feels like a major victory. And Malia hates it. 

Because Malia's _fine_. 

She swears she's fine. It's not some kind of earth-shattering news to her that the pup is going to decide she's ready someday (It is to Stiles). So once Melissa assures them that Pup will most likely stay put for a majority of the next eleven weeks, Malia moves on (Stiles doesn't). 

The cramps don't come back, the pup stays the same, life moves on - except for Stiles. 

Stiles watches her with the same intensity he watched her with when they were both hoping and praying that she'd shift like she was supposed to instead of having to accept that she was pregnant. Stiles brings it up to the doctor at her appointment and asks question after question while she's forced to just sit there. Stiles doesn't want to talk any more about where the pup's going to be born because he can't concentrate on anything else for that long. Stiles forgets that they're supposed to still be looking for her mom. 

She has cramps one night for a few hours, and it suddenly puts their lives on hold. 

But their finals are now officially over as of midnight the night before, and when Malia wakes up this morning, courtesy of the pup, Stiles is still sleeping beside her. More accurately, he's engaged in mouth-slightly-open, occasional-soft-snoring, not-caring-she-just-moved kind of sleeping that means he's slept for more than an hour - maybe he's even slept all night. And it's the first morning of summer and he's not awake watching her like he's some kind of predator and she just really kind of wants him in this moment when he's not worrying over her and the pup.

Her first instinct is to shake him awake, but she stops herself as soon as her hand is grasping his shoulder, remembering the moment of pure panic that happened when she accidentally woke him up two nights ago when she really just had to go to the bathroom. He looks so peaceful right now when he's not watching her, and she doesn't want to be the one to ruin that. So she pulls her hand away from his shoulder as she settles on another tried-and-true method that she hopes will leave him less panicked. (He's been so serious about this only-if-it's-an-emergency stuff, she doesn't want to disappoint him by breaking those rules now.) Luck is on her side this morning because it takes a lot of shifting and repositioning herself before she can lean down comfortably to press her lips against his, but he doesn't wake up in a panic. 

Really, he doesn't wake up at all. 

Despite being mostly asleep, Stiles manages to kiss her back, and as soon as she pulls away, he mumbles something that's completely incoherent. She smiles up against his lips as she goes back in for the kill. "Stiles, wake up.”

"Up," he mumbles back and then follows it up with something else that she can't quite make out. Even though his mouth responds well and plays _so_ well with hers, he shows no interest in waking up the rest of the way. More importantly, her back is starting to cramp at this angle, and she already feels like a couple hours from now, she might regret the decision to lean over him like this. So she sits up straight again, her sigh coming out as a huff that blows her hair off her forehead. 

"Stiles, c'mon," she half-whines as she moves her hand to rest against his middle, using it to steady herself because carrying the pup has thrown off her balance more recently. His skin is warm beneath her hand, rising and falling with each breath he takes, and there's never really a conscious decision before her hand is moving down the front of his boxers, already knowing that she'll find him to be in a semi-aroused state. She may not be an expert on any part of humanity, but she thinks she may know his body even better than her own. So she's not surprised when his body twitches beneath her hand and he gives a sleepy half-moan, half unintelligible plea. She almost has him in the palm of her hand - literally and figuratively - and it's exactly where she wants him. She's _good_ at this. "If you wake up now, I'll sex you," she says, using the phrase she learned from him back when she learned the word _fuck_ and he supplied her with a phrase that _wasn't so... just don't say fuck, okay_? 

At the sound of her offer, he gives another happy, sleepy sound, but he stays asleep. Hours of sleeping as lightly as humanly possible so even her sitting up to push off the covers in the middle of the night is enough to have him shooting up in bed has finally caught up to him. And now, he's dead to the world. She's not about to stand for it. There is no third strike for Stiles this morning. Twice she tries to wake him, and twice he fails to respond, and she's tired of playing games.

Instead of shaking him awake or continuing to say his name at increasing volumes, she moves to straddle his lap. This time there's a definite groan, followed by a moan and a string of words that she mostly can't make out besides the phrase _too early_ , but she's already leaning down to press her lips back against his own, feeling the way his mouth finally seems to wake up against her own. His hand slips into her hair, and she knows that she's finally gotten her way and Stiles is now awake - or at least more awake than he was five minutes ago. This morning, though, it feels like the pup is wedged under her ribs, and the awkward way she's bent in half makes it even harder to breathe, so Malia has to pull away long before she's ready.

Stiles's eyes are at half-mast while he watches her catch her breath, which is progress, and his smile starts out slow but soon takes up his whole face. "Shit. This is _seriously_ so hot." 

He leans in to kiss her again, but she makes a face, scrunching up her nose. "It's so hot _in here_ ," she says, like it took his comment for her to realize how uncomfortable she is. She pushes him away with a hand against his chest before taking off the shirt of his she had worn to bed the night before, leaving her body bare from the waist up. And then she picks up right where she left off, moving back in to kiss him while she takes one of his hands from where it rests lazily against her backside and moves it to cup her breast instead. 

Which lasts exactly 15 seconds before _he's_ pulling back from her.

"Wait, wait, wait." Stiles is suddenly twice as awake as he's been all morning. When she sinks back down with a sigh, she can feel how awake other parts of him are now, too, with his erection pressing against her inner thigh. He shifts underneath her in response, looking like he's the one who's too hot now. "We can't do this." 

She stops, palms pressed to his chest. "Can't do what?" 

" _This. It_." He sighs when her blank stare doesn't change. "We can't have sex right now." 

Malia can only stare at him. She can count the number of times Stiles has refused sex on one hand and still have plenty of fingers left. It doesn't make sense that he would turn her down now, especially not when he thought she was _seriously so hot_ barely a minute ago. Not to mention the tent his boxers are currently forming, which she makes a point of staring at before looking back at him. "But you're hard." 

Stiles sighs again as he rubs a hand over his face. "Yes. Thank you. I'm aware." 

"So I thought you wanted this." 

He drops his hand away from his face, suddenly more alert. "Hey, of course I want this." His hand begins to move up and down her arm, and she can still sense his arousal, but there's something else there in his scent too - something that smells an awful lot like worry with a little bit of regret and sympathy for good measure. Whatever it is, she already knows she doesn't like it. "I want this every morning for the rest of my life. Hell, I want this every hour of the day on every surface in this room -" 

"Then let's just have sex." 

"Mal, we _can't_." His eyes plead with her to understand, but she doesn't. She would also like to spend every morning like this, starting now. And she would like to spend every hour of this first day of summer getting better acquainted with the benefits that come with sharing a room. And if this is what he wants, then why _can't_ they? So while Stiles is busy trying to find an answer on the ceiling, Malia lets her hand slip beneath the fabric of his boxers again and wraps her hand around him. "We just can't," he says again, arm still thrown lazily above his head and eyes still _really_ interested in something she can't see in the white paint above their heads, and Malia wonders if he even notices where her hand is at all. Spurred on by the thought that maybe, just maybe she can convince him to do this for her before he realizes what he's agreed to, she moves her hand down his length. For a second, she thinks it might just work when he thrusts into her hand without even seeming to notice, but the motion ends up being what breaks the spell he's under. "Oh my god," he groans as he physically takes her wrist and pulls her hand away. "Will you just keep your hands away from there?" 

"But this is what I want," she declares in a near whine. 

"I want this too, I sw-" 

"Then why can't we?" Then, before he can even respond, she launches into a second question. "Is this about what Scott said?" 

He stares at her for a second before his face takes on an expression of total disbelief. "You heard that?" 

"I hear everything." It’s true. There's little that gets past Malia, thanks to her supernatural hearing. It's a blessing when she can (usually) hear his dad's footsteps with enough warning to pull his hand out from underneath her shirt or she can hear the pup's little heart and know that she's okay even if she hasn't moved enough in the past hour to make Stiles satisfied. But it's a curse other times - like when Stiles confesses to Scott that she might've started cramping because there had been _some much needed alone time_ that afternoon, and Scott counters with _you guys are **still** having sex_? And then begins a game of 20 Questions with an overly eager Stiles. 

Malia shifts her weight in an attempt to get a little more comfortable, and Stiles groans. "So?" she asks again when he's been silent for a while. "Is it because Scott asked if the pup knows what we're -" 

" _No_ ," he cuts her off before she can finish the sentence. "Scott's an idiot." His hand moves from above his head to rest against the swell of her pup bump instead. "And when I used the word huge, it was totally a term of endearment." 

"A term of what?" 

"It's a - like a compliment." He swallows thickly with another gesture towards her bare torso. "You're carrying the pup and you look adorable and your boobs are seriously amazing right now," he says as his eyes slide away from her face. "Like they're - God. You're too naked for this conversation." 

"Maybe you need to catch up," she suggests. Her hands play with the hem of his shirt for all of two seconds before she's sliding it up, tracing the scar that marks his skin with her thumb. 

"Malia," he sighs as he takes her wrists again and forces her hands away. "No. We _can't_. C'mon." Stiles pats her backside in an unspoken signal that she needs to move. But she doesn't. Malia is stubborn and determined even on her best day, and this morning, she has her heart set on this. _It. Him_. And Malia doesn't give up - 

Or at least, she doesn't give up until he raises his eyebrow in a reminder of the time he explained to her that in situations that are _clothing optional and hands on_ , she has to listen to the other person (a rule established after she became a _little_ too forward in front of his dad). So she listens, even as she huffs and finally moves back to her own side of the bed. Stiles pushes himself up to sit next to her and immediately grabs her discarded shirt from the bed. "Put this back on so I can think," he instructs her as he hands it back to her. 

She chooses to compromise instead by holding it against her front but not bothering to pull it back over her head. "You still haven't told me why we can't have sex." 

"It's the contractions," he sighs, but she doesn't understand, her forehead creasing with her confusion. He seems to notice her lack of understanding as he sighs again. "The cramps. The whatever you had the other night. They made you uncomfortable, and you could tell Pup didn't like that, and it was really freaking stressful there for a little while. And Pup needs these last ten weeks. We need these last ten weeks. We need like ten times these ten weeks. And everything says this," he says with a wide gesture of his hands, "could be the reason you got them in the first place, or it could be the reason Pup shows up way too early, so we just can't. Okay?" 

It's not until he's spelling it out for her that she realizes this is about her and the pup, but as soon as she does, she has to bite her lip to keep from reacting before he's finished talking. She knows almost everything that he's telling her. Melissa said it herself that night, she witnessed his google searches, and she's read the book about the baby cover-to-cover more than once. So she already knows the way she spent that afternoon with Stiles is most likely why she ended up with cramps in the first place. But Stiles hasn't talked about _the whatever_ since it stopped, so she had no idea he had done research of his own. And it makes her want to kiss him. 

Which she does, hard and fast, once she's sure he's done talking. She takes her face in his hands, and she kisses him the way she's wanted to be kissing him all morning - the way she would have been kissing him all morning if he hadn't insisted on talking. He moans his approval against her mouth, but then he seems to realize what he's in the middle of consenting to, and he pulls back with a smack. " _Malia_. What did I just say?" 

"Stiles, we're _fine_." She leans in to kiss him again, but he dodges her advance this time. His hands that were pulling her closer now work hard to push her away. 

"But how can you know that?" 

"Because I talked to Melissa." 

Stiles blinks once, then twice without saying a word."You did?" She watches realization spread across his features as he sits up a little straighter with wide eyes. "You asked Melissa if we could have _sex_?" 

Malia nods, oblivious to Stiles's shock. "I read the book too. Pup needs ten weeks; I had to make sure we wouldn't hurt her. But she said it's fine. The cramps might come back, but they won't make her come before she's ready." Stiles is still watching her with an expression she can't really read. When she tries to scent out his emotion, it's impossible to separate the tangled mess he must be feeling. It's enough for her to know that his mind is moving in even more directions than normal, the way it does sometimes in the mornings before he's taken his Adderall for the day. But she takes advantage of his distraction as she moves to straddle him again, taking back her spot in his lap. "So just let me sex you already." 

"Oh yes _please_." There's no hesitation this time as Stiles's own hands go straight to his boxers, beginning the process of catching up to her speed. She follows suit and discards her shirt a second time. He helps her keep her balance, too, with this new body when she kicks the rest of her clothes away. And they must set some kind of new record because it feels like it couldn't have been more than five seconds when she's settled again in his lap, taking advantage of the fact that it's much easier to breathe when she's kissing him while they're both sitting up. 

And she's waited so long for this and tried to be so patient, when he pulls away from her for the umpteenth time that morning and stops her from leaning back in, she almost feels like she could rip out his throat out of pure frustration. "You know, you're already taking really good care of her," he says instead of putting her on hold again, and her desire to curl her lips back in a snarl and growl dies down a little. "You're already a great mom." 

But she's not, she would argue any other time. Maybe she thought to ask Melissa, but she still doesn't know what half the things Allison added to the ever growing baby list are. And she's held a baby, but as soon as that baby began to fuss, she was clueless. And she already loves Pup, there's no denying that, but there's no way of guaranteeing that she won't become the same monster all of the clues make her own mother out to be. She's not a great mom. She still doesn't even feel like a mom at all. 

She still _needs_ her own mom. 

But that doesn't keep his words from still being a comfort, one that lasts much longer than their early morning session. At least she did this right. 

At least she hasn't messed this up so far. 

\-----

A week into the summer, Stiles actually misses his classes. The last semester was made up of what was probably four of the most stressful months of his life, and he barely passed one of his classes, so now his GPA is officially sunk. But already, he would rather pull all-nighters every night for two weeks straight. He'd take a 7:30 class every morning. He'd read every single page of assigned reading in every single one of his textbooks - okay, so maybe he'd start with just _buying_ every assigned textbook. Bottom line is, he misses school because even that was less stressful than his life is right now. 

To start with, there's the whole contractions/cramps/whatever thing Malia has going on now. It's only happened once since that first time when Melissa assured them it was totally normal, but that second time, Malia ends up feeling a little shifty - because having contractions/cramps/whatever apparently isn't awful enough. They figure out that it's probably because Pup is startled or scared or stressed, and thinking about her getting that scared is enough to make Stiles's heart ache in a way that's seriously unfamiliar. In fact, it's probably the kind of thing he should take the time to sit down and really think about, but where is he gonna find the time for that? Because the baby will be here in ten weeks (it's actually nine as of today, but his brain isn't capable of thinking in single digits yet), and because they're constantly adding to it, the to-do list of things to do before she's born is only growing longer. One of the most important items on that list is figuring out exactly how much of a pup the baby currently is, which is becoming another source of stress, especially because Scott is struggling to take his Alpha Dad duties seriously now that Allison is home for the summer (despite Stiles's constant reminders that reaping the benefits of having a girlfriend so close to home is what landed him with only ten weeks left of freedom). And then there's the fact that they aren't any closer to finding Malia's mom. And she's starting to get a little frantic, which is more like _a lot_ frantic for Malia who's been so freaking calm this entire time. But now, she's about to have a baby, and the girl just really needs her mom. 

And on top of all of this, Lydia and Allison decide it'd be a great idea to throw Malia a baby shower. 

It's the worst idea Stiles has heard since Malia started talking about giving birth in the middle of his living room - a sentiment he shares with both girls after he's determined 1) there is no hidden camera and 2) they really aren't crazy. His girlfriend hates attention and anything girly and anything she doesn't understand, and he doubts she would understand anything about a baby shower. So he vehemently nixes the idea, making mild threats towards Lydia if she chooses to go behind his back. Yet, the girls somehow sway him with the fact that Malia _does_ love gifts, and he somehow finds himself agreeing to a shower disguised as a pack meeting that's only pack and gifts. 

Which is how he finds himself in the loft following what he'll never admit was probably their best pseudo-pack meeting of all time. (This may also currently be their only pseudo-pack meeting of all time.) 

"He did this on purpose. You know that, right?" Stiles tells his best friend as he nudges the box in front of him that contains a swing - or, more specifically a few hundred pieces that will eventually make a swing if he follows the directions that are most likely written in characters and not English. It's one of several gifts from Derek and Lydia, including a bouncy seat and some kind of toy Lydia referred to as a _gym_ , that look expensive and like they require assembly. _A lot_ of assembly. "This is some kind of passive aggressive challenge. Uncle Derek loves his niece so much, he bought out the entire store. But really, he just wants me to look like an idiot trying to put this together. And was all of this really necessary? He's not even really her uncle, he's her second cousin. He shouldn't be spending more on my pup than I am." 

"C'mon, Stiles. I think he's really kind of excited about this whole uncle thing," Scott says because along with puppies and butterflies, he's had this belief in Derek _freaking_ Hale ever since his reign as alpha ended. It makes Stiles want to punch both of them in the face (while also actively ignoring the fact that before Malia left for bathroom trip #67 of the day, Derek had been the one asking her all about the pup). "Plus, I don't think he really gets the way money, you know, works," Scott continues, and the level of stupidity Stiles feels that statement has achieved must show on his face because Scott quickly clarifies. "Like he gave me 50 bucks that time my frisbee got lost on the beach." 

"Are you serious?" Stiles asks, suddenly sitting up a little straighter. "And you're only telling me this now?" 

"I didn't think it was important," Scott says with a shrug of his shoulders. 

"Not important? Scott, are you kidding me? I need all the ammo there is against Derek at all times." His hands have reclaimed a little stuffed wolf that Malia left in his lap before she disappeared, a gift from Mason and Liam, and he focuses on that for all of five seconds before he speaks again more thoughtfully. "Maybe the whole math issue is a Hale thing. We could've told Malia this back in high school." 

"It's not like it's just him anyways," Scott argues, ignoring most of what Stiles just said. "They're from Derek _and_ Lydia." 

Scott raises an eyebrow in his direction as he says it, obviously having noticed the way the card was signed just like his best friend. "I know, dude," Stiles agrees. "Everyone else is showing you up. There's a gift from my dad _and_ your mom, and a gift from Derek _and_ Lydia, and then there's a gift from you... and a gift from Allison. Even Mason and Liam signed a card together," he says as he holds up the stuffed animal in his hands as physical proof. His eyes find the pair sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, once again lost in their own little world. Stiles scoffs when Liam doesn't even react to the sound of his name being said. "Those two are totally fucking." 

Scott's eyes are immediately twice as wide as normal. "Seriously?" 

"Totally." 

"But what about the girl in Liam's room?" 

"He told Malia she's no longer in the picture. We should've thought of that, man," Stiles says a little more thoughtfully. "I couldn't knock you up. He gets to make sweet, sweet love to Mason whenever he wants and be totally carefree." This time, Liam's head snaps up, a glare on his face that is probably a remnant of his pre-anger management days. Stiles can't help but laugh as he jabs Scott in the side. "Aww, Scotty, we gotta be gentler with Liam. He's not gonna be the baby wolf anymore. That's gotta be tough." 

Stiles is still laughing at his own joke when Malia returns, nudging his shoulder and wanting to reclaim the small, _small_ third of the loveseat she had managed to squeeze into before. He's willing to bet that this loveseat isn't meant for three - and that it's only ever forced to hold three during pack meetings - but that doesn't stop him from scooting back over until his leg is pressed flush against Scott's. "Hey, speaking of baby wolf," he says as she slides into the space beside him, pinning him between her and Scott. "Her Alpha Dad just volunteered to put all her new toys together." 

Scott sputters a protest next to him. Stiles laughs a little harder at his own joke. Malia doesn't laugh at all - or even acknowledge the fact that anyone said anything at all. "Stiles, we need to talk," she says instead, all business. Stiles's smile evaporates as he sits up a little straighter. 

"Is everything okay?" he asks on default. 

"You said we would talk later. About Pup." She says it so matter-of-factly, like he should have known already what she had come over here to discuss, and he forgets to try to fight off a groan. His head begins to shake automatically as he regrets ever having said those exact words a little over two hours ago, right outside the loft. But by later, he had meant they could discuss where pup would be born when they were back home and not heading into Derek's building. Or when she had managed to forget that there had ever been a time when she hadn't wanted to give birth in a hospital. Or maybe after the pup was already born. 

"Not now," he tells her. "I meant later, like at home. When there's no audience." 

"But you _always_ say not now, and we have to figure this out." 

"We will, just... not now. Okay?" 

"No," she insists again, her eyes flashing blue for a half second. "Lydia just said -” 

“I don’t care what Lydia just said,” he groans, cutting her off before she can even tell him what wise words of feminist wisdom Lydia has to share today. “We are _definitely_ not doing this again right now." 

"Yes. We are," Malia counters, and Stiles is reminded once again at literally the worst time possible that the only person in the world more stubborn than him is his girlfriend. "You said later, and it's later. And Lydia-" 

" _Stop it_ ," he says as he tosses the stuffed animal he's still holding onto the coffee table in front of him. The stinging bite of guilt resonates for half a second because that's _Pup's_ toy he just discarded so carelessly, but it doesn't linger. Just like the chill to his voice is enough to shock him for the other half of that second, but then it's gone, too. "I don't want to hear about _Lydia_ anymore. It's not Lydia's baby, and it won't be Lydia's bed. So we're not talking about Lydia. Got it?" 

He’s met with silence, only silence. Heavy, thick silence that makes him feel like he can't breathe as his eyes flicker around the room to find that at the sound of the redhead's name, everyone else has become quiet. And then, of course, he realizes that he's shaking a little and he was probably louder than he meant to. And even though Malia seems angry and not scared in the least, he was more forceful than he meant to be, too, judging from the tight grip Scott's clawed hand has on his knee right now.

"Jesus, Scott," he groans as he gives a rough shake of his knee. "She's fine. I'm doing your job better than you are right now." Scott's grip starts to relax, and as soon as his knee is free, Stiles is whipping back around to look at Malia. "Is this what you want?" he asks with a gesture around the room. "Do you really want to do this in front of the whole pack?” 

“Why does it matter if the pack’s here?” 

“Okay, fine. Then why don't we just let all of them weigh in?" 

The crazy thing is that Malia agrees. She _does_ think it's a good idea to turn the question they still can't seem to agree on over to the pack. And Stiles doesn't talk her out of it because… Well, because he’s reached this breaking point now - in front of an audience, no less, thanks to Malia. He’s still seething a little when Allison steps in to act as a referee of sorts, calm and collected despite the circus Malia seems determined to put on. But Stiles still manages to catch the pack up to speed, showing just a little bias when he says that Malia wants to give birth at home and he thinks it’s the worst idea he’s ever heard. 

It’s also Allison who decides they should just go around the room one at a time to weigh in, like it’s some kind of formal debate over the pup and Malia’s safety. Because she's the farthest point in their misshapen circle, the burden of starting the debate falls to Melissa who immediately holds her hands up in a show of surrender. "I'm Switzerland," she says in a decisive way that no one will try to challenge. "Both of the Stilinski men have asked me to be there, so I will be there. You just tell me where." 

While he appreciates her show of support, Stiles is a little offended that his dad's girlfriend - see also his best friend's mom - doesn't automatically side with him. 

But that's what his dad is for, even if he backs up his own vote with the fact that he thinks all three of them could benefit from having a doctor there. (At least Stiles is too distracted to realize this means he's probably going to pass out.) After his dad's declaration, all eyes are on Lydia, the name that launched this debate in the first place. "What?" she asks, her tone cool and her eyes boring into Stiles. "Do I get to have an opinion?" 

Stiles's patience with the banshee is wearing thin, but before he can say anything, Derek's hand touches her shoulder, and it's like her icy exterior physically shatters as she looks up at him. "C'mon, Lydia," he says much gentler than Stiles would have. "They want to hear what you think." 

She stares at Stiles for another ten seconds, long enough for him to file away this idea of Derek Hale, Lydia Whisperer, for a future conversation with Scott, and then she looks around the room at everyone instead of focusing solely on him. "I just think Malia should be able to do this however she wants. She's the only one who has to do this, so it should be her choice." Stiles starts chewing the side of his thumb to keep from talking because Allison's first rule was that everyone got their opportunity to share their opinion. But leave it to Lydia to act like this is something that only happens to Malia. She _sounds_ like Malia when she puts it that way. But just when he's about to make a mental list of ways to frame her so his dad has no choice but to lock her away for the next ten (now nine) weeks, she looks right at him. "I'll know. If something’s going to go wrong, I’ll know before it does. We won't let anything happen to them." 

Lydia glances over her shoulder to let Derek know that it's his turn, and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. Because Lydia was the only wild card, and now he has the pleasure of listening to the rest of the room tell him about how right he is. At least, that's the way it was supposed to go. 

Instead, Derek agrees with Lydia. And Stiles doesn't know if he's ever hated Derek Hale this much before in his life. 

"Deaton says she's gonna shift, and she's gonna heal," he explains as he looks back over to Stiles. "The baby might do the same thing. You can't just explain that away." But they've been bringing unexplainable cases to Beacon Hills Memorial for years now - weird bites, temporary paralysis, dog dysentery, and plenty of other wounds that disappear in the time it takes to prep for stitches. Melissa's always been able to help them cover their tracks, and this is no different. That's the argument Stiles wants to make, is going to make even though he's supposed to stay quiet until he has his chance to present his closing argument. But Liam is the next person in the circle, and making the connection that Liam, son of a doctor, is now permanently in the pack and one of their own makes Stiles like the kid more than he ever has before. 

Liam looks nervously around before he scoffs. "I'm not voting," he says, hands held up in surrender to match Melissa's. "I really don't know what you guys should do." 

"What about your dad?" Stiles jumps in, earning a look from Malia in the process. But if Liam's not going to give a response, he should earn the right to talk in his place - or something like that. 

"My _dad_?" Liam's incredulous expression doesn't change, not even once Stiles has nodded his head slowly in response. He's starting to feel like he might have to spell out every single word for this kid. "My dad's a cardiologist. I don't think he's delivered a baby since, like, med school. Or ever." 

"But he _could_." 

"I don't think the hospital would even let him." 

"But still an option." Liam's mouth opens to argue back again, but Stiles looks away before he has the chance, focusing on the boy beside him instead. "Okay, Mason." 

Mason refuses to choose a side, too, and in a moment of weakness, Stiles accuses him of only siding with his boyfriend. It earns him bared fangs and a yellowed glare from a seriously on-edge Liam, and a reprimand from Allison who established the no-talking-unless-it's-your-turn rule. It's not enough to make him apologize, though; not when Malia's excitement seems to radiate from her now that both Lydia and Derek have clearly sided with her. She's like a little kid, all jittery energy so her knee bounces in near perfect sync with his own, and he just barely catches her smile out of the corner of his eye. 

Both of their knees bounce a little faster when Allison finally speaks after a long moment of hesitation to say that she thinks she agrees with Derek and Lydia this time. She's swayed by Derek's "what-ifs" and the threat of someone finding out their collective secret. And she agrees that this should be Malia's decision based on her comfort because she's the only one who will be responsible for bringing the pup into the world.

Stiles is left wondering why he ever liked Allison in the first place. 

And then, there's only Scott. Scott, the alpha, who already has this crazy need to protect his tiniest beta. Scott, his best friend, who looked as sick as Stiles felt the first time he brought up the fact that Malia had started insisting that she wasn't going to give birth in a hospital. He can already _taste_ his best friend's solidarity when he turns to look at him, and for a split second, Stiles feels bad for his best friend because he knows it can't be easy for Scott to disappoint Malia, his _other_ beta. But he ignores it as he breaks the no-talking rule for a third time to declare that Scott's vote counts for ten because he's the alpha. 

It's a decision he regrets as soon as his best friend opens his mouth. 

"I agree." Scott is still staring right at him, like he thinks enough eye contact won't make this feel like the kick to the balls it really is. 

" _Dude_ ," Stiles says when he can finally form a coherent thought. "What the fuck?" 

" _Stiles_ ," his dad warns sharply, but Scott only glances at him once before turning back to Stiles and continuing. 

"Derek's right. We don't know what will happen to Malia or the baby." 

"Exactly!" Stiles's nervous energy wins out as he gets to his feet, towering over his best friend. "We don't know what will happen," he says as he looks around the room, addressing the whole pack who has sided against him. "So we can't risk it." 

"But we're not risking it," Malia counters as she follows his lead and gets up from the couch. 

"How are we _not_ risking it? What happens when something goes wrong?" 

"Nothing's going to go wrong.”

"They'll both be able to heal," Derek offers as a reminder, too. "And we can be there to hear the baby." 

" _You_ stay out of this," Stiles says as he turns around to face Derek, then addresses the room as a whole. "In fact, all of you just stay out of this. It doesn't matter what anyone else says," he says as he finally looks back to Malia. "It's not their decision, it's ours, and there's no way she's going to be born anywhere but the hospital." 

"But that's not what I want!" Frustrated tears are beginning to collect in the corners of Malia's eyes, and Stiles is half tempted to go back on his word immediately. But it’s her words that get to him, the way they make her sound like a child playing a game. This _isn’t_ a game. This is their _child_. 

"Well, tough shit, Malia," he says, lacking all empathy at this point. "I get a say in this. I'm her _dad_. And we're not doing it. Both of you are human now, so start acting like it." 

Malia's jaw forms a tight line almost immediately. It's been a long day, and this argument has been a long time coming, and the minute Stiles has said it, he knows it's the wrong thing. But by then, it's too late. Her tears are gone, replaced by a fury he's only encountered a handful of times in the past four years. But the worst part is she doesn't say anything, doesn't even try to argue back before she turns away from him and walks right out the door. 

\-----

Malia doesn't know where she's headed as her feet move over the stairs, hand just barely grazing the railing. She just knows she can't sit there anymore, listening to him, watching him. For the past four years, Stiles has always been firmly planted in her corner. Now that he's on the opposing side, she doesn't know what to do with herself. 

It doesn't even matter that the rest of the pack sees it her way. 

She's rounding the first landing when she realizes there's a second set of footsteps on the stairs. The angry knot in the pit of her stomach pulls tighter when she realizes that she would know those footsteps anywhere. She can know him better than she knows herself, and he can still side against her. 

"Malia, will you just slow down?" 

Some stubborn part of her coyote brain decides to move a little faster, and she's not even sure why. It's not like she doesn't want to be around him, but she likes the idea of leaving him behind - just for a minute, knowing he’ll catch up eventually. Letting him feel like he's on his own. 

" _Malia_." 

She's not going to stop. She's not going to stop. She's not going to stop. 

"Please. Just slow down! I didn't mean it, okay?" 

Stiles is the one who taught her about what it means to owe people things - not physical things, but her time or her respect or her ears to listen to whatever someone has to say. She heard him tell Scott _I owe you one_ over and over again before she finally asked _one what_? This is the kind of time when Stiles would say that she owes him _at least this_ , but she doesn't owe him anything at all. Not this time. Not when he just sat there and finally listened to her side - the same side as the rest of the pack - and still refused to agree. 

"Malia! Stop!" 

The soles of his feet slap the stairs twice as hard as hers do, and she can tell that he's closing the distance. With him this close, it's harder to ignore his scent: hurt and guilt and a sharp note of panic that makes her own heart race if she focuses on it too much. She never truly makes the decision to stop, but her feet slow on the next landing, and she comes to a stop instead of continuing on to the next flight. She doesn't see him as he skids to a stop behind her because she's still facing the wall in front of her, but she hears the squeak of his shoes, feels the heaviness of his panting in her own chest. 

"God! Would it kill you to be cautious?" She jumps at the sound of his open palm hitting the brick wall to her right. She expected his feet to stop, his breathing to come in these short gasps like when he insists on running with her, but she's not expecting this. "That's the problem! You're always just rushing into everything without ever stopping to _think_!" 

She whirls around at his accusation, arms crossed just above her swollen middle and angry tears starting to form in her eyes. "I'm not rushing into this! I'm not rushing into anything!" 

"Yes, you are!" he insists as he presses his back against the wall, hand pressed tightly to his chest. He stops because he's wheezing too hard to talk, but she still stays there, waiting for him to say something even though she _still_ feels like she doesn't owe him this. "Did you ever even think about what happens if something goes wrong?" His voice breaks at the end, and he's gasping for breath again as soon as he's asked the question. "God...You doing this," continues as he leans against the wall with one hand while motioning back towards the stairs. "Like this," he gasps as he gestures wildly with that same hand to indicate her pup bump. "Seriously impressive." 

She ignores his last comment, not sure if it's a compliment or not. When she speaks again, her voice isn't nearly as frantic, but it's twice as firm. "Stiles, nothing's going to happen." 

"But you don't know that! You're not invincible, okay?" He steps away from the wall, having regained control of his breathing for the most part. "You can't heal from everything - I watched you not be able to heal from _anything_. And the same goes for her, too," he says with another motion of his hand toward the baby. "We don't even know if she can heal yet." 

"She won't _need_ to heal. And this is what I want." 

"Well, it's not what I want! And she's mine too, okay? It's my job to keep her safe." He says as his expression hardens, and some part of her coyote brain wants to take a step back, like she's fallen prey to him. "Both of you! You're mine too!" 

And then her anger disappears for a second, replaced by her confusion instead. "What?" 

He groans as he brings his hand up to rest against the wall again, slightly winded from this second outburst. "I mean, you're my... you're just... everything." As soon as the word's left his mouth, his whole face becomes a mask of disgust. "God, that was so cheesy." 

But she disagrees. The word rings over and over again in her head, blocking out the edge of his anger and the subtle buzz that is always there in Derek's building, other conversations in other little worlds that she mostly chooses to block out (except for when she's bored and Derek's abandoned her on the couch for some other more important task). He's been her mate - her everything - since that first time she acted on impulse and brought her lips to his in that cold, dark basement that smelled of sadness and fear and something rotten - something that stuck to Stiles's skin for the first few months she spent sneaking in through his window to curl around him while he slept. It doesn't matter that all of their friends just witnessed their biggest fight to date. It doesn't matter that they still haven't come to anything close to an agreement. It doesn't even matter, for at least this moment, that he chose a side other than hers. He opens his mouth to try to correct himself, and she moves forward, taking his face in her hands and kissing him hard and fast, his back pressed against the wall. 

He pulls back from her before she's ready, wheezing again as he screws up half of his face and watches her out of his one open eye. "No coyote lungs," he says in between huge, heaving breaths as he points at his own chest. "Seriously not fair," he continues, speaking in phrases he can fit between gasps instead of coherent sentences. He follows that last one with a shuddering breath that seems to clear away the wheezing - at least long enough for him to speak an entire sentence. "She should really slow you down. Or something." He leans his head back against the wall and gives her a smirk. "And you're terrible at this fighting thing." 

Malia's bottom lip sticks out just slightly in a small pout that's not for show but a genuine reaction. Her hands are still on his face, and she knows already that he's right. Lydia taught her about fighting as she told her stories about a boy Malia's never met and gave her a list of things she should never tolerate from Stiles. Stiles has never come close to that list, but this isn't the first time they've disagreed about something. And every time, it usually works like this, with her forgetting there's a fight somewhere the middle. "I hate fighting," she reminds him, stepping closer so that her front is pressed against his own in all of the places it possibly can. 

"Me too." He picks his head up from the wall, pressing his forehead against hers and bringing one hand to cup her cheek while the other moves to the side of her bump. "But this is serious. You're it, Mal. Do you get that? You and Pup both. I mean, if something happened to her when she's born - " 

"It won't." Her answer is firm and automatic, the same way her eyes flash blue before she can stop herself. It's some dormant instinct inside of her waking up for the first time, summoned by her own intense need to protect the baby. "Scott knows when she's in danger. He won't let anything happen to her. Neither will we." 

"But it's you, too. It scares the hell out of me to think about losing you." He closes his eyes, taking deep breaths while his heart continues to race faintly in her ears. For a second, she thinks he's waiting for her to say something, but then he opens his eyes again, and she thinks there might be tears there. "I lost my mom; you did, too. I can't let the same thing happen to her. _That's_ why I can't just say yes." 

Malia feels sick to her stomach again, but it's not because he's not on her side this time. Sometimes, they talk about what they've lost. In fact, when she first started slipping in through his window in the middle of the night, it was most of what they talked about because he had just lost the nogitsune and she had just lost her coyote form. They both felt responsible for someone else's death. They were both struggling with identity and humanity and whether or not any part of them was truly still human. They both lost their moms. They both had to watch it happen. They both felt responsible. It became the common ground they built their relationship on, a strong foundation in an otherwise shaky reality they were both trying to navigate. It became ingrained in their shared identity. 

Lately, though, their talk has centered around what they're about to gain, and when he brings up this possibility of loss, her first reaction is flight. She's never been good with emotions, and the tightly wound knot of sadness and panic, fear and a little bit of remorse is impossible for her to separate. It makes her feel heavy and tired. She never even thought about the idea of the pup growing up without her. Because it can't even be just a possibility - she won't let it. "Stiles, I'm not going anywhere," she promises, and she feels some of the tension leave his frame. She half expects him to argue that she doesn't know that again because it's made up 95 percent of what he's told her in the past hour. But he doesn't. 

"Good," he says instead, rubbing a pattern against her cheek with his thumb. He sighs as his eyes drop away from her face, and she catches the scent of his guilt immediately. It’s so strong, she can almost feel the sinking feeling guilt normally leaves in the pit of her own stomach. “I know you hate the hospital, and I know you really hate doctors -” 

“He’s an asshole.” 

Stiles chokes back a laugh, but she can still sense his amusement. It's a word she learned from him, one that she uses as much for his reaction as she does for the satisfaction she gets from using it as a label. "You can't say that. He's not an asshole; you just don't like him." He smirks as he brushes her hair away from her cheek and back behind her ear. She opens her mouth to argue that he is an asshole, and she has the proof to back it up - namely the time she overheard Stiles telling Scott about _having to watch some asshole all up in her business_ \- but he's faster than her. "And I get that. Trust me, I've seen way too many doctors. But I still have to do it -" 

"But _you're_ not the one having the pup." 

"Doesn't matter," he says with a shake of his head. "I don't care what Lydia told you. This pup is _my_ baby, too, which means I should at least get a say in where she's born. And I'm telling you that she really needs to be born in a hospital. Because it's safe." 

"But what if it's not?" Remembering what Derek had said about the pup just a few minutes ago is enough to pull that knot in her stomach tight again. But Stiles must not remember because his eyebrows come together in the middle of his forehead. "Derek said that we don't know if she'll be a pup or not when she's born, and he's right. What if he's right about them taking her away, too?"

Stiles groans as he leans forward to rest his forehead against her own again. "We could find a way to make sure she didn't do that." 

"Like what?" 

"Like... the wolfsbane your mom used. We could have it in the room the whole time." 

"Then we can't heal. And I can't hear her. I need to hear her." 

"Okay... Then we talk to Liam's dad." 

" _Stiles_. Liam just said his dad hasn't delivered a baby since med school."

"Okay, well I haven't done it since ever." He throws his hands up in a frustrated gesture, but she already caught the scent of his frustration. At least he's not too frustrated to bring his hands back to rest against her middle and her upper arm. "I just want what's best for both of you. And that's not -" Stiles cuts himself off mid-sentence as his eyes drop to where his hand is still pressed against the swell of her bump. "Okay, seriously," he says without looking back up at her. "What _is_ that? What do you have going on in there?" 

She freezes, too, and her eyes follow his to her swollen middle, concentrating on the pup as she notices that light tapping for the first time. By now, she's just used to kicks and nudges and flips. They gave up on keeping track of each and every one of her movements when she began to move more often than she stayed still, so sometimes, it just kind of blends into the background. Her focus was on her anger and now this discussion, so she missed whenever that tapping started, keeping up a constant rhythm right against his hand. It takes her all of five seconds to determine the cause, and then she looks back up at him. "She has the hiccups." 

His eyes are wide, his expression something she's heard Lydia call _incredulous_ as he looks back down to where the pup is and then back up at her. "She has the - " He cuts himself off again as he steals another glance at where his hand is. "She gets _the hiccups_?" 

"Sometimes." 

His hand moves in a slow circle over that same spot. He smells different now, too. For the first time since she brought up the hospital upstairs, she can't sense his frustration. Instead, his scent is a mixture of other emotions: admiration and adoration and amazement. It's the way he smells when she looks over at him to find that he's just been staring at her while she's been writing her paper or reading or studying the way someone else is doing something entirely human. It's the smell she's come to associate with love. 

Her hand is gentle when she moves it to his chin, encouraging him to lift his head and meet her gaze again, which he does without complaint. "If you want what's best, this is what's best," she says with total confidence. "It's not about just hating the hospital anymore. I might shift, and she might have fur, and we're both going to heal if we need to, and how are we going to explain any of those things?" She pauses to let him offer a solution, but he doesn't have one ready or he wants her to finish first because he doesn't say anything at all. "Lydia will be there, so she'll sense if something's not right, and Scott has his Alpha thing, so he'll know if Pup needs help. I can hear her heartbeat, and even if I can't, Scott and Derek can. And if something goes wrong, we'll both heal. This is what's best for us, Stiles." 

She expects him to argue back right away, but he doesn't. He just watches her, hand still moving in slow circles. There's an edge of panic or worry mixed in with that admiration and adoration and amazement now, but there's something else there, too. Something like peace - like they've made their decision. " _If_ we do this," he starts out, almost wincing as he says the words out loud. "Melissa is there the whole time. _And_ you let her deliver the pup." 

Malia's mouth breaks into a wide grin. She closes the distance between their bodies as she presses her mouth against his in an almost urgent kiss.

He reciprocates for all of five seconds before he's gently pushing her away until her lips separate from his with a smack. ">em>Whoa. Hold up. I said _if_. We have to check with Melissa first -" 

"Okay." 

" _And_ my dad. Because it's his house." 

"Okay." 

"And Deaton and Liam's dad are both on standby. Just in case." 

"Okay."

"And we make sure we can make it to the hospital in less than ten minutes. I'm serious, Mal." 

" _Okay_." She wants him to stop. She wants to go back to kissing him before he can change his mind again. He sighs, and her stomach does a flip, worried that it's already too late. 

"You're sure this is what you want?" 

Her smile grows even wider as she nods excitedly. "This is what I _need_." She bites her bottom lip as he watches her, his struggle to come to terms with this decision written plainly across his face. 

"I can't believe I'm saying this," he mutters as he shakes his head. "But _if_ we can do all of these things... we won't go to the hospital." 

She kisses him again, hard and fast, trying to use the gesture to let him know just how much she loves him for letting her have this one thing. She knows they still have to meet his requirements (and there will be more requirements that he hasn't even thought of yet), but he's at least willing to give this a try for her, and she loves him. She loves him _a lot_. In the end, everyone will agree, some more reluctantly than others (see: Stiles's dad), and talk about the hospital will _almost_ stop (though Stiles will continue to drop hints about what _he_ thinks is their best option right up until the bitter end). But none of that matters to her then. 

All that matters is that she finally has him back on her side. 

\-----

It takes all of 24 hours to get everyone on board with the new and improved Plan for Pup, and the arguing stops. It's that simple - and it only took them almost 32 weeks to figure it out. 

Really, Stiles is grateful that they came to this agreement now. For one, life is easier for him when he's not consistently landing himself in the dog house - especially when there's no longer a second bed right down the hall for her to pick over him. And for another, there's plenty of other things to keep them both busy. Like figuring out what they do if Pup is born with fur and fangs and a tail, and if she's not, then they need a plan for when her inner pup starts to make an appearance. Plus, there's a whole human side to this baby thing that he doesn't understand. Like diapers and late night feedings and onesies. 

And then there's the issue of her missing mom. 

He's thrown himself back into the search because it's something to focus on that won't send him straight into a panic attack. Braeden finally got in touch with Derek, and even though she didn't have anything new to add, at least they know they're headed in the right direction. Down at the station, his dad pulled a few strings to get them a name (which turns out to be what they think is an alias she used at the time). And for the first time since he promised Malia they would find her mom, Stiles feels like they're _right there_. One more little detail - her location - and they’ll be golden. 

Promise fulfilled. 

But it’s a promise that keeps him up at night now because he didn’t need the lecture that followed his heat-of-the-moment comment to know that he had screwed up. (Of course, that didn’t stop his dad from sitting him down to remind him that 1) he can’t talk to Malia like that _ever under any circumstances because his dad raised him better than that_ and 2) he can never slip up like that in front of the baby.) He made that comment about her humanity, and he realized as soon as the words had left his mouth that it was probably the worst thing he had ever said to her. And even though she cut off his 74th apology with a very pointed, very unchaste kiss, he knows she hasn’t forgotten. His words have embedded themselves in the part of her mind that holds all of her fears about being a good mother. 

And now, a few days later, because his girlfriend hasn't forgotten, it's well past noon when he finally wakes up to find Lydia sitting on the floor of the nursery, putting the finishing touches on a wolf on the pale blue wall. The mural she's working on was agreed upon, her gift to the baby, but his foggy mind can't remember ever agreeing to today. He yawns as he rubs the back of his neck and tries to think of a way to _not_ startle the redhead. But she solves that problem for him. 

"Your dad let me in," she says without ever looking away from the wall, answering the question he had been about to ask. 

“Did I know you were coming?” He wracks his brain again for some memory of a conversation about Lydia. But he’s more than a little sleep deprived, and his mind’s already preoccupied with all things pup. As he tries to remember the last time he even talked to Lydia, his eyes scan the still mostly empty room, stopping abruptly when they land on the swing that he swears wasn’t over there in the corner last night. “Did _you_ put together her _swing_? It’s gotta be you, or else I’m much better with directions in my sleep.” 

“Try Door #3,” she offers, still without ever looking away from the expanse of wall she’s working on. “Derek did it while he was here. He left -” 

“- To meet up with Scott and Deaton. I remember that part.” He also now remembers texting Lydia last night to let her know that it was fine if she wanted to stop by to work on the wall. He had told her then that he and Malia wouldn’t be around because they were supposed to be sitting down with Scott and Deaton to talk about options for dealing with the pup before she learns control (which is also when Derek jumped on that bandwagon). But when Malia accidentally woke him up on the way to the bathroom that morning, he had texted Scott to let him know that he and Malia were going to be spending the morning catching up on sleep - they’d find another time to meet with Deaton - and then almost immediately fallen back to sleep. 

With a sigh, Lydia lowers her brush to rinse it off and finally steals a glance at where he’s standing in the doorway. “Rough night?” 

“Something like that.” Stiles finally moves away from the door and lowers himself gently to the floor right beside her. She’s already back at work, adding a little more black to areas of the wolf’s coat, but she gives him a look that says she wants more of an explanation than just that. “Malia was up with cramps, so then I was up with Malia. There was a panic attack in there somewhere around four this morning, too. Could’ve been worse,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. Craning his neck, he steals a glance at the swing now standing in the corner of the room, assembled unlike the crib or the changing table or the bookshelf. In fact, besides the rocking chair and the dresser that came already put together, the swing is it. “Your boyfriend shouldn’t be putting my kid’s stuff together,” he mutters without looking back at Lydia. 

“Your ego will recover." Stiles just catches Lydia's eye roll out of the corner of his eye, but her eyes are instantly focused on the wall again, all business. "Besides, he did it for his _niece_. Now, she has someplace to sleep besides the box," she says with a nod of her head towards the crib box that still contains the crib. 

"Hey, no one's sleeping in a box. Her bassinet's in my room... Or at least it will be. Before she's here." 

Lydia doesn't miss a beat before she responds, but her voice is a little softer and a little more serious as she reroutes their conversation like it never took a detour in the first place. "Is that why you're having panic attacks again?" she asks as she steals a quick glance in his direction. "Because she'll be here soon?”

"Ah, no. It was Malia's panic attack," he confesses as he steals a quick side-glance before studying the wall again. "And it was because I'm an asshole who has no filter. So instead of inspiring confidence in my vulnerable girlfriend, I'm reaffirming her fears and putting her flaws on display.” 

“All that in one night?” Lydia asks with a smirk to match her raised eyebrow. 

"In one _sentence_." He sighs, which turns into a yawn, which clues his body into how physically _exhausted_ he still is. Malia's still sleeping down the hall - or at least she was when he left the comforts of his bed - but when she got up to go to the bathroom an hour ago, he had woken up and there was no going back to sleep for his own racing mind. But he gives in now, laying back on the floor with one arm resting beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. "She's tough, but the whole human thing is still hard for her, you know? And then I called her out on it in front of _all of you_." 

"Stiles, she forgave you," Lydia says as she finally pulls her eyes away from the wall to look back at him. "She was all over you when you guys came back. She probably doesn't even remember you said it." 

He's grateful for the fact that Lydia remembers the comment so he doesn't have to repeat it. Even though having a plan in place for Pup's arrival is a serious relief, he has enough guilt over what he said to last him _years_. "Trust me, she does," he confirms, eyes aimed at the ceiling. "It's pretty obvious when she's shaking you awake in the middle of the night to ask you if humans automatically know what to do when the baby cries. I swear, someday, my grave is gonna read: _Tough shit. Both of you are human, so start acting like it_." 

Lydia disagrees with a shake of her head. “Too long. No one’s going to remember you said that by the time the baby’s here.” She falls silent as she continues to study the wall, cocking her head to the side in a way that still makes him feel just a little uncomfortable because it’s when she looks the most like she’s channeling her inner banshee. "It’s natural,” she says thoughtfully after several long seconds of silence during which Stiles almost nods off. “Human or coyote, they call it maternal _instinct_ for a reason.” 

Stiles groans inwardly, wishing that the phrase _maternal instinct_ had crossed his mind at four that morning when Malia was so vehemently insisting that she has no idea how to be a mother. _Of course_ , Lydia would think of something like that. _Of course_ , someone else would know the perfect thing to say to his girlfriend. “Maybe you should tell her that,” he says, and then only realizes afterwards how perfect it is. He props himself up on his elbow so “Yeah. You totally should.” 

Even from this angle, Stiles can make out the deep-set frown on her face. “Why?"

“Because I keep telling her the same things over and over again, and it doesn’t help." Because last night was just one of many conversations when Malia has come to the conclusion that finding her mom is the only solution. And the closer they get to actually finding said mom, the stronger the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach becomes. Her mom has become her one and only solution, like if they find her mom, this lightbulb will just go on and Malia will suddenly know everything she needs to know about being a mother. Stiles finds himself going back and forth between reassuring her that she’ll be great with the pup and telling her about his own insecurities because he hasn’t yet found it in himself to remind her that her mother put her up for adoption before killing her father’s girlfriend and never spent much time actually being a mother at all. "She doesn't think she's going to know how to be a mom."

And then it becomes an avalanche of confessions that he can't stop. He's told most of this to Scott and a little more of it to his dad, if only because he's around more, but they're both family. Lydia becomes the first person outside of that small circle to hear about Malia's worries that she won't know what to do with a baby when it's placed in her arms. And her fear that she'll be no more of a parent and no less of a monster than her own biological parents were. And her growing obsession over finding her mom, even though Stiles is now nearly certain it's become a distraction for her to focus on instead of those other fears. "She just doesn't get it," he sighs once he's spilled all of his girlfriend's secrets. "She's already taking care of the pup. She's done _everything_ right. _I'm_ the one we should be worried about. Not her." 

Lydia, for once, has only been patient, adding to the mural that will eventually cover most of one wall of the nursery. She's quiet and contemplative, and she actually waits for him to finish before she adds anything at all. "It's neither of you," she finally says after a lull that's long enough to make him think that she thinks Malia might actually be a problem. 

"What?" 

"No one's worried about either of you. You're both good at this already."

Her response is enough to make him sit up again, supporting himself with his elbows. "What are you talking about?" he asks as he makes a face at her back. "We haven't done anything." After a moment of careful consideration, his expression becomes slightly more thoughtful. "Beyond the standup job we did making a pup," he adds with a shrug of his shoulders, which earns him another look from Lydia. "Lyds," he scoffs with his index finger pressed to his chest, "I created _life_ here. Okay?" 

Lips pressed tightly together, Lydia chooses to ignore that last comment. Stiles figures it must be his punishment when she's silent instead of immediately answering his question, taking her time on a deer whose eyes look weirdly familiar. In fact, she waits until she's finished the deer entirely and set the brush back down before she says a word - long enough for Stiles to create a long list of comebacks for words she could have used instead. And just when he thinks she's going to leave him hanging for eternity, she turns around to face him completely. But she doesn't offer him the wisdom he's been hoping for. 

"What's her newest trick?" 

Maybe she's been breathing in these paint fumes for a little too long. "What?" Stiles asks, brows meeting in the middle of his forehead. 

"The baby," Lydia clarifies. "What's the newest thing she's started doing?" 

He's too caught off-guard by the question to think to demand why it matters what the pup's doing when they're in the middle of a conversation about his girlfriend. Instead, he rubs the back of his neck as he tries to remember what the latest milestone has been. "She had the hiccups the other day," he says when he finally settles on it. "It's super weird, like this crazy tapping inside Malia. But it has something to do with her learning how to breathe, so it's, like, a good thing." 

Lydia's expression turns smug in a way that means she thinks she's already won. "Two weeks ago, it was the cramps. Before that, it was the way you can sometimes see her entire foot." 

"Okay, you know that's cool. Like insanely cool," he argues, and she gives him a look to indicate that he's missing the point. But he's not; he's followed her train of thought all the way to the station. He sighs as the smile leaves his face. "So what? I know what's going on with her right now. That doesn't mean I'll be any good at this whole _dad_ thing." 

"But you _always_ know. And you spent weeks trying to figure out how to help the pup stop shifting, you even went to Peter." He opens his mouth to insist that a) he only went to Peter out of necessity, and b) he never did figure out how to make the pup stop shifting, only how to stop a shift once it started, but Lydia holds up a finger to silence him. "Both of you got the help she might've needed when you thought something was wrong. And last night, you were up in the middle of the night even before she's here, trying to figure out how to take care of her. No one is even a little bit worried about you two." 

Stiles focuses on the wall instead of looking back at Lydia. He may be cocky enough to boast about a forgotten condom, but he's never been good about accepting praise for the things that really matter. Like when a pack member casually mentions the fact that he _saved Malia's life_ or Scott tells him that he _wouldn't be where he is now without his best friend_. So instead of accepting her praise now, he scoffs. "Tell that to my dad. He's _freaking out_." 

"That's different. He’s your dad.” She turns back to her painting, but not quick enough for him to miss her smile. “You should know what that’s like.” 

“Whoa. I’m no one’s dad yet. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” 

He earns himself a very obvious eye roll. "The pup will be here in a matter of weeks. There's no getting ahead of anything at this point." 

That comment should leave him dangerously close to the panic attack of the century, but he totally misses almost all of what she just said. Instead, a wide smile spreads slowly across Stiles's face. "You just called her Pup.” 

"When in Rome," she quips, but Stiles isn't about to let her off that easily. 

"No. You called her Pup because you like it. It's adorable, and you know it." 

"What I know is that Malia is already her mom. _That’s_ what you need to tell her.”

“ _This_ is what you need to tell her," Stiles argues with a sigh. Because he thinks he used that argument at about five this morning, and it didn't get him anywhere. There's only so many ways he can say _you're gonna be great at this - you already are_. "I'm serious, Lydia. For whatever reason, she listens to you. Like _really_ listens." He watches her put the finishing touches on the wolf before he scoffs. "Especially when you tell her that she shouldn't marry me." 

Lydia's head whips around so fast, Stiles flinches. "I never told her that," she insists before turning back to the wall with a shrug of her shoulders. "But no one should make her feel like she _has_ to marry you." 

"Don't worry. She's told everyone about how _archaic_ it would be." He leaves out the part about how he has no intention of marrying her right now. He also bites his tongue to keep from asking whether or not she said it because she thinks he'll let Malia down eventually just as much as he does. Instead, he studies the wall before him, getting a clear view now that Lydia has moved to a spot over on the side. "This is amazing." 

It was Lydia's idea to add a mural to the wall because the pale blue he and his dad had put up in the guest-room-turned-nursery was too plain. It's supposed to match the bedding for her crib, but the mural contains a few more wolves and not quite as many friendlier woodland creatures. And it's perfect. Beyond Lydia's level of talent, Stiles is pretty sure those are Allison's eyes staring back at him from that deer's face, the wolf next to the tree (which is thankfully not a Nemeton for once) is identical to Derek's full shift, and there's a fox between a coyote and a wolf with red eyes that has eyes that are way too familiar. As he looks at all the animals, it's clear that she's managed to capture the entire pack here on Pup's wall. And it's incredible. 

It's somehow even more incredible when Lydia shifts, and he can just barely make out the last little animal that's being added at the base of the tree. "Is that a dog?" He asks, leaning closer to get a better look at what is decidedly a dog and not a wolf - or even a coyote. 

Lydia freezes and stares at the wall with that same tilted head. There's a faraway look in her eyes that he recognizes, too. "I don't know why I did that." She sounds as startled as she looks, her tone bordering on apologetic. "A dog doesn't fit." 

"Lydia, it's perfect. Seriously." If his words don't convince her, his smile must do the job when she glances over her shoulder at him. There's no mention of taking the dog out; instead, she continues to to put the finishing touches on the smallest member of the mural. Lydia falls back into her trance, and his own mind starts to drift back down the hall. In the past, Malia has woken up after late nights like nothing ever happened, but she's never been that upset before. And he's not sure he wants her to wake up to an empty bed.

Mind made up, he clasps a hand on Lydia's shoulder and uses it as leverage to get back to his feet. "I should go check on Sleeping Beauty. Keep up the good work." 

He's almost to the doorway when she says his name. "I'll talk to her. About how good she is with the pup already." 

He gives her a smile in return because there is no word for how grateful he is to have their pack. 

\----- 

Of course, he's always the most grateful for their pack at moments when there's more at stake than his girlfriend's self-esteem. When it's more like his girlfriend's sanity. Maybe even her well-being _and_ Pup's when there's a solid eight weeks between them and her due date. Which is where he finds himself on a Thursday night when Scott's sitting at his desk relaying all of Deaton's ideas to help keep a pup human or force her to shift back and Stiles is sprawled out on his bed, trying to make sense of the mess of clues about her mom that he knows are all connected. There's a list of aliases his dad pulled some strings to create. There's the dates from the motel, both when she stayed there while Malia was a baby and when she returned just a few years ago under a different name. There's another location supplied by Braeden, one not so far from the motel. There's information about the pack the other she-wolf had belonged to, the one Malia's mom must've taken out in the hotel, supplied by Derek and Deaton and _not_ Peter because there's been no more visits despite Derek's many offers. There has to be something there. 

But when Stiles finally strings together the right location and the right alias in his Google search and gets a hit - a _big_ hit - it's not what they're looking for at all. 

"Holy shit," he says as he scrolls through the page with everything he needs to know about what could presumably be her mother's current location. He wasn't listening to Scott anymore, so he doesn't realize he's just cut his best friend off in the middle of listing the pros and cons of giving the pup her own wolfsbane-laced stuffed animal. Scott must sense the dread that's knotted itself in the pit of his stomach, though, because he's up and peering over Stiles's shoulder in record time. "I think this is her.” 

"Stiles, man..." Scott's voice trails off as he stares at the screen, and Stiles doesn't blame him. He doesn't really know what to say either. “Are you sure?” 

“I don’t know. That looks like her, right?” He waits for Scott to say that it doesn’t look anything like the picture they have of Malia’s mother when Malia was just a baby. He waits for his best friend to say that her hair’s the wrong color (not that hair can be dyed) and her face looks too different (not that she hasn’t aged well). But even he has to admit that those are Malia’s eyes staring back at him from the face of a woman he’s never met.

“It looks like _Malia_ ,” Scott says, confirming his fears. “Maybe we should ask her. We could just show her the picture first.” 

“ _No_.” Stiles’s response is automatic. If Malia were here right now, she’d be over his other shoulder, and then he wouldn’t have a choice. But Malia is with Allison and Lydia tonight, dragged along to their yoga class that he’s pretty sure she likes more than her complaints let on. “We’re not telling her about this.” 

Before Scott even has a chance to react, Stiles slams the laptop closed, putting a definitive end to the search - at least for now. Later, after Malia’s asleep and Scott’s long gone, he’ll pull it back out and do another hundred searches to check the validity of this source. But with Scott talking about telling Malia, he doesn’t want to do it here under his best friend’s judgemental eye. The judgemental eye he can feel watching him as he gets to his feet and replaces the laptop on the desk. “C’mon,” he says without looking at Scott. “You’re supposed to be helping put together this bassinet.” 

Scott makes no move to follow him, though. “ _Dude_. You can’t just not tell her. It’s her _mom_. If we found her -” 

“But we didn’t.” He turns back around to face Scott with the finality of his decision written across his face. “Or at least we don’t _know_ if we did. So we're not gonna tell her. Just - just not yet, okay?" He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before he gestures towards the pile of parts that will eventually form a bassinet. "Now help. Before Derek sweeps in to save the day again." 

"Stiles, stop." Scott at least gets to his feet now, but he makes no move towards the project they've been putting off for most of the night. “We can't do this to her." 

"No, Scott. Maybe you can't do this to her, but it's my decision," he says as he crosses his arms over his chest, taking the defense. "We're not telling her anything." 

Scott folds his own arms to mirror Stiles. "I think this is a bad idea. What about what happened with Peter?" 

Just the name makes Stiles feel like he's ready to snap. He's not sure how exactly, but he's pretty sure Peter Hale holds some of the blame in this situation. And what right does Scott have to throw his last secret-keeping mistake in his face. "What about it?" he challenges his best friend instead. "This is different. You don't know what it's like, okay? It's not just her, it's the pup too. And when Malia gets stressed now, she gets cramps. And when she gets cramps, the pup gets stressed. So I'm not telling her anything. Not until we know for sure." 

Scott's silent as the inner back-and-forth battle plays across his face. Stiles can relate; just because his voice rings with a finality that could challenge even Scott's alpha authority doesn't mean that he feels like he's making the right decision here. Malia deserves to know the truth, he _knows_ that, but she's banked so much on finding her mom and learning from her. And now, they're eight weeks away from the pup's arrival, and it just doesn't feel like it's worth the risk to tell her what might not even be true at this point. He needs proof that the one article that came up in his search is correct before he tells her anything. But Scott doesn't seem to feel the same. 

"But she deserves to know," he argues a second time. He looks like he's five seconds away from playing the alpha card, and Stiles thinks that if he does, he may just lose it. "She's been waiting months for this. We've all seen her freak out. You _owe_ Malia this." 

"Owe me what?" 

Stiles and Scott both jerk their heads in the direction of the doorway where Malia is now standing. Their heated conversation must've drowned out the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, and there's a moment of panic when he wonders just how much her little coyote ears might have been able to hear. But she's looking at them too expectantly to have heard much of what was going on. "

The bassinet," he covers quickly with a gesture towards the corner before Scott has the chance to open his big mouth. "I told you we'd get it put together, and it's still..." He turns his head to look over at the pile of parts, trying to seem more apologetic than he feels. "Uh, yeah. Like that." 

He has every intention of apologizing to her. Really, he does, and he's going to make it sincere because he may not feel guilty about the lack of assembled bassinet, but he does feel a little guilty for keeping this secret from her. But he stops short when he turns back around because she's still in the doorway, gripping the frame hard enough to make her knuckles turn white. Her eyes are closed tight, and she's wearing a pained expression that he _thought_ they left behind, like, five months ago. It doesn't help that Scott's little alpha senses are in serious overdrive to his left, judging from the way that he’s starting to intrude on their personal space.“Hey, you okay?” Malia shakes her head without opening her eyes. “You feeling shifty?” He knows the answer before she even nods because this has become the norm again: she gets cramps, the pup doesn’t like it, shiftiness ensues. Or at least, that’s the pattern they’ve been living through in the middle of the night. “Is it you or her?” 

“Her.” 

“It just started. She said she felt kind of crampy on the way home, and then this happened when we got here,” Allison says from just behind Malia, where Stiles hadn’t even bothered to look, what with his girlfriend possibly overhearing their conversation and then this. 

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, not sure if he’s talking to Allison or Malia, but his attention is on Malia. He helps her to the bed and sits down beside her as he reassures her it’s okay a second time. He wraps his arm around her, rubbing her arm in an attempt to calm her down even though they know by now that she’s the anchor the pup needs, not him. He ignores the way his own heart races as she talks to the pup the way she did back when she was shifting like this on a nearly regular basis. And before it’s all over, he shoots Scott a look over the top of her head. _**This** is why_ , he tries to communicate telepathically, probably feeling more smug than he should when his girlfriend is feeling like this. This is why we can’t tell her. 

“The bassinet can wait for today,” he says when Malia’s still shaky but not on the verge of a shift. A look at Scott tells him that his best friend is smart enough to know that they’re not really talking about a bassinet. “Pup won’t be here for a while. We have plenty of time to figure out how it really goes together before we actually do it.” 

Allison is watching the two of them a little too intently for Stiles’s liking, but after a long stretch of silence, Scott nods, and they all move on. After all, Malia has become the far more pressing issue as she comes down from that shifty feeling no worse for wear this time. They still have eight weeks. They’ll tell her as soon as they know they’re right about her mother’s whereabouts. 

He just hopes he’s making the right decision.


	8. Eighth Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is way overdue, but I promise this story will have an ending. There's no way my beta would let me abandon it even if I wanted to. ;) I hope to have the next chapter up sooner, but in the meantime, feel free to find me on tumblr. :)

Seven weeks is the same as 49 days, and it takes math like that to make Stiles finally break down and open the crib box. 

It's not even the fact that the crib will have an occupant in 49 days, or the fact that the doctor made a statement  last week that sounded something along the lines of _she could really be here in three weeks_. It's just that he needs distractions from numbers smaller than 50 and best friends that are _seriously_ judging him. Make that one best friend who is not nearly as supportive as he should be when there is a number smaller than 50 at the forefront of Stiles's mind. But said best friend would probably just say that Stiles can thank himself for deciding to keep secrets, so he really doesn't need Scott. At least, this is what he tries to convince himself of when he’s not thinking about numbers smaller than 50. 

Stiles knows it should be harder than it is for him to harbor this _potential_ secret from Malia (because if there comes a time when he needs a defense, he'll be quick to point out that there was nothing _to_ tell because they didn't _know_ anything - yet). He should watch her as she sleeps and feel the slow burn of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He should find it hard to not spill when she kisses him as soon as he's walked through the door. He should hear her talk about her mom and find himself fumbling to come up with the right words. Instead, he watches her sleep and does the math over and over again in his head to figure out how there are only 49 days  left and they still don't even have a place for the pup to sleep. He comes home to her urgent kisses and he returns them because, hey, his days of freedom are numbered, and he's going to enjoy having his girlfriend to himself at every chance he gets. He hears her talk about her mom, and he quickly changes the subject to avoid backing himself into a corner. 

In short, there should be a lot more guilt in his life than there currently is. 

  


Instead, there's a lot of worry and a lot of borderline panic and a lot of baby stuff that he's starting to think he's just not meant to understand. For example, how to assemble a crib. 

  


The crib is really a last resort because he's not exactly  not  talking to Scott right now, but he's consciously avoiding all opportunities for his best friend to try to convince him to come clean to his girlfriend. And Malia's been texting him a steady stream of complaints since just after the girls picked her up that morning to finish buying the last few baby necessities, but it's not a great distraction from numbers and back-stabbing best friends (or at least best friends who have serious potential to become back-stabbers). Then again, he's starting to think the crib was the wrong distraction when two hours in, there's nothing to show for his work. 

  


By the time his dad is home from the station and surveying the damage that is the ungodly number of parts spread across the  entire  nursery floor, Stiles still isn't sure how he's supposed to tell the top rail from the bottom rail. It's not really a surprise, then, when his dad is back again after changing out of his uniform, taking the directions out of Stiles's hand. 

  


"Good luck reading those," he huffs as he slides himself away from the pile he's haphazardly formed close to the wall where the crib is supposed to go. "They're, like, in Swedish. How am I supposed to know Swedish?" 

  


"You look at the pictures," his dad replies, already picking up what he seems to be way too certain is the top rail and  not  the bottom rail. 

  


Turns out, that  is  the top rail, and in half the time it took him to cover the floor and lose a handful of screws (turns out, they need those), his dad has helped him put together an entire side. Their work  is punctuated by pieces of conversation and the vibrations of his phone against the floor. His dad asks him about Malia, and as he updates him on hiccups and moments of panic and the last doctor's appointment, he realizes that his dad's idea to put in some overtime now and then take off some time to help them once the baby's there has resulted in a lot of time passing since the chance they really had to talk. Somewhere in the middle, Malia sends a series of frustrated texts about returning the pacifiers Lydia insisted on buying and asking what Lydia means when she says Malia really needs a  pump , to which Stiles responds that they'll talk later in hopes that she just forgets. 

  


It's starting to actually look like a crib by the time his dad looks up at Stiles where he's mostly been reading the directions and not helping much at all and asks, "What about you?" 

  


It's all calculated, but Stiles knows it's supposed to seem casual when his dad looks back down at the crib instead of continuing to watch him. "What about me?" 

  


"How are  you  doing?"

  


"Oh, Dad.  Malia's  pregnant, not me," he says, complete with an apologetic tone and a hand pressed to his chest in a shown of faux sincerity. It immediately earns him a glare. 

  


"We still panic-attack-free?" his dad says instead of chastising him for his incessant need to be a smartass. 

  


"Me or Malia?" Stiles is actually sincere this time as he sighs. His dad stands up one of the sides of the crib, and he doesn't even have to ask before Stiles is moving closer to hold together the joint between the other side so his dad can screw them together. "I'm fine - really, I'm fine." 

  


But his dad hasn't been re-elected as Sheriff three times and counting for nothing. For years now, Stiles has been able to point out the times his dad employs police tactics on him - almost always to gain a confession - but that hasn't stopped him from falling for them.  Every. Single. Time. So even though he knows his dad is silent in an attempt to get him to talk more, he finds himself spilling. "I mean, besides the fact that I have no idea how to be a dad. And my kid's gonna be half coyote, and I really have no idea which half. And Malia's really losing it, but I don't even know what to do for her." 

  


His dad freezes, mid turn of the screwdriver. "Are you telling me that my granddaughter might have a  tail ?" 

  


"Seriously?" Stiles asks. " Seriously ? I bare my freaking soul here, and that's what you're going to take away from it?" 

  


His dad claps a hand on his shoulder in response. "Kid, it's the tail that concerns me." 

  


"Just the tail," he deadpans. 

  


"Just the tail." Stiles remains dumbfounded and just a little offended as his dad turns his attention back to the crib. "Because all of the rest of that is normal," his dad continues once he's found a rhythm with the screwdriver again. "I'd be more worried about you two if you were calm about all of this." 

  


"Okay, but that doesn't make me  ready  for it."

  


Both of them fall silent as he moves his hands away so his dad can shake the rails and test the joint. Seemingly satisfied, his dad sighs before looking back to Stiles. "You're not going to feel ready." 

  


"What - is this supposed to be  comforting ?" 

  


"No one ever feels ready," his dad says with another hand clapped on his shoulder. "She's calling the shots. She decides when she's ready, and she doesn't really care about how you feel." 

  


Stiles wears a pained expression as his chest grows tight. He would really like to continue on with this panic-attack-free track record, but it's going to be nearly impossible if his dad's going to continue to make comments like that. "This whole birth thing is really gonna suck," he says in an attempt to distract himself from that anxious feeling spreading from his chest. "Isn't it?" 

  


"It's not gonna suck," his dad says as he gives him the  look  \- the one that implies there is a line there that Stiles is getting dangerously close to. (Note to self - he doesn't know much about this whole dad thing right now, but he  needs  to learn how to do that.) "But it's rough," he continues, his expression softening considerably. "Seeing your mom like that was definitely rough.” 

  


“How rough are we talking about here?” Stiles asks, face screwed up in a mixture of concern and the tiniest bit of disgust. “Like on a scale from one to the elevator scene in  The Shining , how rough are we talking about here?” His dad looks up from the rail he’s been trying to force into place to shoot him the look a second time. “Okay, how about on a scale from one to Stiles hits the floor?” 

  


“Son,” his dad says as he finally gets the rail into place. “I would strongly suggest you stay seated.” 

  


Stiles groans. “I’m so gonna pass out.” 

  


“It’s a strong possibility. But as rough as it is, it’s going to be one of the best experiences of your life." 

  


"So not going to scar me for life?" 

  


"Not even close," his dad says with a firm shake of his head and no pointed glare this time. Their conversation is put on hold as his dad asks him to hand him the next piece and it's a good, solid six tries before he finally finds the right one. "I almost missed it when you were born," his dad says once he's securing the piece in place. "I was just promoted, your mom didn't want to call unless she was absolutely sure you were coming. So by the time she decided to call, I barely made it there before you were born in the ER." 

  


The story's familiar, like he might've heard a slightly different version from his mom when he was a kid. Or maybe he had heard it more than once - there was a cluster of stories she told over and over again on her bad days when she sometimes thought he was Scott or her brother or a stranger. But this is the first time he can relate to it, feeling a little sick at the idea of missing Pup's arrival, even if it does leave him scarred for life. He chooses to ignore the feeling as he scoffs. "Sounds like Malia." 

  


"Your mom was tough," he agrees, a sad smile on his face when he stops what he's doing long enough to look back up at Stiles. "She would've loved Malia." 

  


Stiles has to swallow around the lump in his throat as he tries to sort through his thoughts. “It’s weird, right?” he asks once his dad has started working on the crib again. “Like, Mom’ll never meet Malia or the baby.” It’s more than weird, kind of like it wasn’t just weird that she wasn’t there for his high school graduation or his last lacrosse game or even his first lacrosse game. But weird is the word they’ve settled on using somewhere along the line. 

  


“I know.” Those two words feel heavy in Stiles’s own chest. His dad sets down the screwdriver again, letting the joint he’s been working on loosen when he takes both of his hands away. “You were just a kid when it happened. I was thinking about her missing little league games, not  this .” Stiles nods, the rest of his response stuck in his constricting throat. It doesn’t feel any less tight when his dad clasps his shoulder again. “She’d be proud of you, y’know. Both of you.” 

  


Stiles scoffs, regaining his voice. “Uh, I think the word you’re looking for there is  disappointed .” But his dad shakes his head, gripping his shoulder a little tighter. 

  


“I’m proud of you too, Kid. And I don’t say it enough." Stiles looks away first, and his dad takes it as an invitation to start tightening that screw again, but it's not enough to make him stop talking. "That baby is lucky to have you two." 

  


"Dad, c'mon. I can't even put her  crib  together right," Stiles says with a gesture towards the mess of pieces for emphasis. "If it weren't for you, she'd be sleeping in a cardboard box." He leaves out the part about how she also wouldn't have a swing because Derek took care of that one, and she wouldn't have a bassinet because that's probably the next thing his dad will be helping him with. 

  


"So what?" his dad says instead, and Stiles has to bite his tongue to keep from arguing  so it's a freaking cardboard box . "So what you can't figure out the crib? She's going to have a whole hell of a lot of love. That's what matters. You're both gonna be great." 

  


Stiles envies his assuredness and the easy way he can say it like it's a fact. Like there won't be nights when she'll wake up needing something and he'll be half-tempted to just lay there. Or there won't be days when she cries and cries and he just can't figure out what's wrong. Or there won't be a day somewhere in the future when he really screws up, and the pup suffers because of him. Because  that's  the certainty he lives with on a daily basis. 

  


But by the end of the afternoon, she has a crib. And that's a start. 

  


\-----

  


By the time the Countdown is under six weeks,  Stiles wears his fears on his sleeve -  literally . He never actually voices them aloud, but Malia can smell them on him constantly. It's become his signature scent, announcing his arrival before she can even see him or hear his voice. It's so strong on his skin, she's starting to think it might be permanent. She, on the other hand, has learned how to bury her fears beneath the long list of things they still have to accomplish before the pup is there. Like setting up the bassinet in the corner of their room and meeting with Melissa about a plan for when the pup is born and locating  the last piece of the puzzle that is her mom so they can finally just find her already. But there are no fears sending her into panic attacks or keeping her up at night, not anymore. 

  


In fact, when she finds herself up in the middle of the night just a little under six weeks from her due date, it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the pup will be there in less than six weeks and they still haven't found her mom, and everything to do with the fact that the pup might've just decided not to  wait six more weeks. 

  


Stiles is snoring softly beside her when she wakes with a start, her abdomen still painfully tight in a way that feels  new  and  different  from the cramps she was just starting to get used to. He's still snoring when she realizes that it hurts this time and it's not going to let her sleep, and he barely stirs when she slips out of bed to go downstairs and pace the length of the living room instead. But she's barely made a lap around the coffee table, hands pressed to her lower back as she steels herself for the next wave of pain, when Stiles appears at the bottom of the stairs, bleary-eyed and yawning as he asks her why she didn't wake him. 

  


Twenty minutes later, when he's melting into the couch and making far more unhappy noises than she has, she feels like he can probably answer his own question. 

  


"Why don't we just go back up to bed?" he asks instead of answering said question, knee bouncing as he lifts his head from the back of the couch just enough to see her. 

  


“ You  should go back to bed.” 

  


“ You  should too.” 

  


She’s about to tell him that she  can’t  go back to bed because the thought of laying down right now makes her want to scream, but that tight feeling is creeping back around her middle. Instinctively, she turns to face away from him so he can't see the way she has to close her eyes as she silently wills that uncomfortable tightness away. 

  


" - And you know it'll go away soon," Stiles says as she starts to relax enough to focus on something other than how important it is that she doesn't make a sound. She must've missed the first half of whatever he was saying. "C'mon, Mal. You look exhausted." 

  


"I'm fine." 

  


"Well,  I'm  exhausted." 

  


"Then go to bed," she snaps, eyes flashing blue when she whirls back around to face him. Part of it is due to  her mounting frustration, but she has a feeling part of it is because Pup doesn't seem to like the way her peace is being disturbed. Either way, Stiles misses it because his eyes are closed again as he groans inwardly. 

  


"But I can't sleep without you there," he half-whines. He lifts his head a second later and raises an eyebrow in a silent suggestion. "Maybe laying down will make them go away. It did last time." 

  


She gives a definitive shake of her head. "It hurts too much this time." 

  


Two seconds too late, she realizes her mistake. 

  


"Wait,  what ?" Malia cringes as she hears his tone because she already knows she slipped up.  The sleepy Stiles on the couch who was one strong argument away from going back to bed and leaving her alone is suddenly wide awake, sitting up straight and bouncing his knee a little faster. "What do you mean it  hurts  too much?" 

  


"Nothing. I'm fine." 

  


"You're not fine, Malia. This hurts? Like  hurts  hurts?" 

  


"Just go back to bed," she nearly pleads. For a split second, his face falls, and she thinks he's going to listen to her and give her the space she so desperately needs. But in the next second, he's standing up from the couch instead and closing the distance between them. 

  


"You think this is it?" 

  


"It?" 

  


"Yeah.  It  it? As in are you planning to drop this pup tonight? Because I think we should call Melissa," he says as he steps close enough to put his hands on her upper arms. Before she can say anything in response, he's asking another series of questions. "Should we call my dad? Or Scott? Holy  shit . This is early. Like too early. Are you sure this is it?" 

  


"No," she says quickly, but everything surrounding the pup is starting to grow tight again, and her mind is foggy from the pain. "I don't know," she corrects herself a few seconds later."But you need to  stop ." 

  


The tiniest whisper of a moan slips out of her mouth before she can stop it, and her eyes immediately fly to his, silently hoping that he missed the sound altogether. But his face tells her that he definitely heard. If he was wearing his fear on his sleeve before, he might as well have it written across his forehead now. "Okay, okay," he tells her as he rubs her arms up and down in what she's pretty sure is an attempt to calm himself. "I'll stop, but I really think you should sit down." 

  


She shakes her head as the coyote in her brain resists. What she needs is a dark, quiet place where she can be free of an audience. "I'm  fine ." 

  


"Then  I'm  gonna sit down because I’m really  starting to feel lightheaded." He sinks down heavily on the couch, head bowed towards his knees. If he was wearing his fear written across his forehead before... 

  


"Are you okay?" 

  


"I'm fine," he groans without lifting his head. When he does finally look up, he rubs a hand over his face, and she can see how exhausted he still is. "Okay, I'm gonna text my dad." He reaches for his phone on the table, but her animal instincts are faster, claws out and pressing against his wrist in a kind of warning before he ever has the chance to pick it up. He looks up at her with wide eyes as she tries to figure out how to explain that the coyote beneath her skin can't have an audience for this moment of intense vulnerability. "Hey," he says before she has the chance to try to explain, a gentle hand on her elbow. "I'm just gonna check with him. I think he'll understand if we need help." 

  


"I don't need help." 

  


"Mal, we gotta figure out what's going on here, okay?" 

  


This time, the human part of her mind that wants to let him comfort her as he makes false promises wins out because even her coyote brain needs an answer to that one big question:  is this  it ? She lets go of his wrist so that he can send the text, which becomes a phone call when his phone vibrates against the table not even thirty seconds later. Her curiosity wins again as Malia finally takes the spot beside him on the couch and he rewards her by putting the phone on speaker so she doesn't have to strain to hear as his dad asks how long this has been going on for and have they called Melissa and should he come home. Stiles is on the phone with Melissa, answering a lot of the same questions before she can feel that pain creeping back around her middle. But this time, it makes her nauseous, and there's a familiar tightness in the pit of her stomach, separate from the contraction, that has the potential to take over. 

  


Stiles must notice the way she folds in on her herself in an attempt to pull away from it because he begins to rub the space between her shoulder blades distractedly. "It's okay," he tells her even though she's been careful not to make a sound this time. "Melissa wants to know if you can talk through it." But she can't talk - just not for the reason Melissa thinks - so she lifts her head, baring her fangs as her eyes flash a familiar blue."Uh, Melissa? About that..." 

  


Stiles's fingers move into the spaces between her own, careful to avoid the claws, and it takes only a few seconds of his thumb drawing slow circles over the back of her hand for her to start to feel more human. By the time he's off the phone again, it's like nothing ever happened at all. Except they can't just pretend like  nothing happened at all because Deaton had said her ability to stay human might be an issue, and now they have confirmation. They also have confirmation from Melissa that they probably won't see any  real pup action  tonight, but they should still keep an eye on it. And judging from the fear rolling off of Stiles's skin in waves and the pain of the last cramp she felt, it's not like either of them is  going to be able to sleep any time soon. 

  


"So this can't be it right?" Stiles asks once they've decided to camp out in the living room until they both feel safe saying this isn't  it . "Melissa doesn't think it is. You don't feel like it is, do you?" 

  


"I don't know," she says after a moment of thoughtful silence. 

  


He watches her with the same amount of careful consideration before he presses a hand to her pup bump. "Well, you just work on keeping her in there. Like for every day of the next six weeks." He sighs as he melts back into the couch, looking as exhausted as he did when he first found her down here as he stares at the ceiling. "At least till the bassinet is up." 

  


"At least till we find my mom." 

  


Stiles picks up his head again so she can watch his face fall. He also now reeks of guilt, something that's happened every time her mom has come up since Peter turned out to be no help at all. It makes her feel uncomfortable, though, when he reaches for her hand, holding it tighter when she tries to pull away. "Mal, it might take us longer than that - to find your mom, I mean." She opens her mouth to   insist  that they  have  to find her mom before then, but she stops when another contraction starts. Stiles doesn't even seem to notice as he continues on. "Scott and I- we're doing our best, but -" 

  


His voice stops abruptly when she finally wrenches her hand free before turning so her back is to him as she bites down hard on her bottom lip to keep from making a sound. "Hey... Is this a contraction?" he asks somewhere over her shoulder, and she manages to nod without making a sound. "Okay, what can I do?" 

  


She wants him to press his hands against her lower back where it's starting to throb. She wants him to not care so much. 

  


She wishes he still slept as soundly as he used to. 

  


"Just go to bed, Stiles," she begs instead, claws digging into her palms deep enough to leave her with tiny half-moons come morning.  

  


With her back to him, she can't see his face, but she can still picture the deep V his confusion makes in the middle of his forehead when she hears his voice. "W hat ?" 

  


"Go. To.  Bed ," she manages through gritted teeth as that ring of pain around her middle grows so tight, she feels like she might break in half. She also immediately loses that battle to not make a sound, but it's a growl and not a moan that follows on the tail of her words. 

  


"Not happening." The couch shifts beside her, registering somewhere in the back of her mind as her muscles start to relax and the pup gives a swift kick in protest. When she opens her eyes after the pain is totally gone, Stiles is in front of her, sitting on the floor as he tries to gently uncurl her fingers from her palms. "C'mon, Mal. I'm not just gonna leave you alone like this." 

  


"But I'm  fine ." 

  


"Okay, you're fine, but you're also really damn close to having a baby." She's too smart to protest a second time; she's definitely too smart to tell him about the time she's spent thinking about just how close she is and just how sneaky she has to be in order to have that baby without having to become this vulnerable in front of anyone. Stiles's thumb moves over those fresh half-moons on her palms as he confirms that  he's  too smart to not know what she's up to. "You know I'm gonna be there," he says gently but decisively. "When she's born - I'm gonna be there. I  want  to be there, and I want to  help  you. You're just gonna have to deal with it."

  


"But I don't  need  help." 

  


"I don't  care ." He reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear, and she can sense his growing sadness. "It's okay to need help, y'know. I know this hurts, and it's going to get a lot worse than this before it's over - whenever that is," he says with a sympathetic wince. "And it's okay to be human once in a while." 

  


It's been four years, but she's still never sure whether or not any part of her  wants  to be human. Most of the time, she just wants to blend in with the rest of the pack, or she wants to achieve these human things, like passing math classes and learning to drive, because it makes Stiles proud of her. But at times like this, when her mind can only think he means that being human is the same as being weak, she wants to be anything but. And yet still, it's something Stiles  wants  for her. He  wants  to help and he  wants  to see her like this, and so maybe she can want these same things, too. 

  


For now, she stops fighting him. She lets him hold her hands so that when the next contraction comes, her claws dig into his palms instead of back into her own. She still doesn't make a sound, but she lets him talk to her and touch her and do whatever he can to keep her anchored when the stress keeps trying to force her out of this body. And when she stops fighting that shifty battle because the pain isn't quite so bad, she doesn't try to order him back to bed and accepts his offer to press his hands against her lower back when she stops her pacing to wait out each cramp. 

  


Eventually, the pain fades enough that she finds herself being shaken awake halfway through a lap around the coffee table by a very tired sounding Stiles, her cheek pressed against his shoulder and his arm firmly anchored around her waist. "You fell asleep," he explains as she opens her eyes just enough to see him. "I think it's stopping. Maybe we should go back to bed." 

  


By the time they’ve both done just that, he's made her promise ten times that she'll wake him up if something like that happens again, seven times that she won't have the baby without him, and three times that she won't try to put up a brave front for him - that she'll just let herself be human. She promises to at least  try to keep them all.  

  


\-----

  


Two weeks later, Stiles is still just as pupless as he’s ever been, but he’s pretty sure the night they called Melissa lit a fire directly under his ass, and now, there's just  a lot  of work to do. Like have a solid five hundred or so back-up plans for when this whole baby-born-in-his-bed thing doesn't go as seamlessly as everyone seems to think it will. Or figure out what happens when he goes to get her up from her nap and finds a tiny little coyote in her crib. Or find a way to make sure he  does not  go down while Malia is giving birth to his pup. Basically, the idea that he may not have a full four weeks before it's Go Time has left him with a daunting to-do list he's determined to get through at warp speed. 

  


Beginning with how to install a car seat. Because he and Scott have literally been at this for three hours, and progress has not yet been made. 

  


"Dude. Why can't you just take it to the station?" Scott asks, wheezing from the combination of this freak heat wave in May and the awkward angle they've both been bent inside the Jeep at in an attempt to get the seat buckled in correctly. He looks like he's gonna give up. No, judging from the way he's stepping away from the car and taking a seat in the front yard, he's definitely giving up. 

  


Stiles never should've told him the station was an option. 

  


" Because ," he says with a frustrated yank at the seat belt that's managed to lock itself for the fifth time in twenty minutes. "Derek put her swing together. I handed my dad crib parts while he built it. And your mom took over on the bouncy seat. I need to do something for my kid, okay?" 

  


"But you're gonna end up going anyways." 

  


"To have the seat  checked  after  I  get it installed." He gives another yank of the belt, and it finally snaps away from the seat, swinging right into his shoulder. With a sharp groan and a string of curses, he hops back from the Jeep, rubbing his shoulder. "Oh my  God . She better freaking love this car seat." 

  


At least, Scott doesn't laugh from where he's sitting next to the driveway. But he doesn't have a wealth of good advice to offer either. "Maybe you're dad's right, Stiles. Maybe you can't put her in the Jeep." 

  


His smarting shoulder has nothing on this stab to the middle of his back. " Whoa , Scotty," he says, eyes wide. "You forget how this whole best friend thing works? Because first, you choose Team Malia, and now you're siding with my  dad ?" 

  


"I'm not siding with anyone. I just don't think it's supposed to be this difficult." 

Stiles scoffs as he turns his attention back to the seat. "Could've fooled me," he mutters mostly to himself. But there’s a few more heartfelt attempts and when he  finally  thinks he has the base anchored in there correctly, he gives the seatbelt a tug… And it falls to the floor of the Jeep. With a groan, he lets it lay there as he closes his eyes. 

  


"C'mon, Stiles. Just take a break. Or take it to the station -" 

  


"Not gonna happen." He gives a curt shake of his head as he finally picks up the base with renewed determination. "I  have  to do this." 

  


"But why?" 

  


"Because eventually, she's gonna have to leave the house." 

  


"So why not take it to the station?"

  


"We don't need some cop putting my kid's seat in the car, okay?" 

  


"It's been three hours, man. We're not doing something right here." 

  


"So we'll figure it out," Stiles argues, giving the belt another tug that's too hard and succeeding only in locking it. "But we're not taking it to the  station ," he groans as he gives it another hard tug. "Because it's not  necessary ." Another tug. "Because I can  do  this." He tugs the belt a third time, and this time it whips out to hit along his cheek bone. There's a second string of curse words as he presses his hand to his cheek where there will definitely be a bruise tomorrow, but his anger gives way to a stronger sense of defeat as he leans against the side of the Jeep. "Because this is all I've got," he finally admits a little more solemn and a lot calmer than before, hand still pressed to his face. 

  


Scott's confusion is written across his face long before he speaks. "What do you mean?" 

  


He sighs as he lets his hand drop away from his face. "This is all I can do, Scott. I can put her car seat in the car, and I can put her crib together, but I don't even know where to start with all of this pup stuff.”

  


"None of us do." 

  


"But I'm her  dad ." Even just saying the word makes his chest feel tight. His chest has been tight  a lot lately, actually. Like when he found another two articles to match the first about Malia's mother and denying that it's really her became slightly more challenging. Or when Melissa sat down with the two of them to talk about plans for when Pup is born. Or two nights ago when Malia shook him awake because he sounded like he was stuck in a nightmare (he was), and he sat straight up in bed, already convinced that she was awake because something was wrong. He can feel himself building towards one hell of a panic attack with each day that brings them closer to the baby's arrival. "I should know how to do this, but I don't even get the human side. And what do I do if she's born with a tail?" 

  


Scott is silent for a long time, staring at Stiles in a way that makes Stiles wonder if he heard a word he just said. "We'll figure it out," he says, and Stiles somehow feels worse knowing it was a pause because he didn't know  what  to say. 

  


With a sigh, Stiles finally retreats from the Jeep to drop down beside Scott on the edge of the driveway. "And what if we don't?" he asks, eyes focused on the car seat still taunting him where it sits outside the car. 

  


"We will." Stiles is aware of the weight of Scott's gaze on him when his best friend turns his head, but he still keeps his eyes locked in front of him. "You always figure something out." 

  


"Yeah, well this is different. I can't screw this up. The other night, I was twice as scared as she was." 

  


"Dude. I'd freak out, too. She's having a  baby ." 

  


"Yeah, I know.  My  baby." 

  


"She's having  your  baby." 

  


At the reminder, Stiles flops back on the grass with a groan. That tight feeling in his chest is back again. Maybe this isn't a slow-building panic attack; maybe this is what a  heart attack feels like. He tries to focus on taking deep, even breaths instead of trying to figure out if his ribcage is really as close to crushing his lungs as it feels like it might be. 

  


"Hey, you okay?" Scott asks from somewhere in Stiles's peripheral vision. "Is this a panic attack?" 

  


"Not yet," Stiles mutters as he takes another deep breath and that heavy weight stays there, wrapped tightly around him. He takes a few more and waits to see that nothing changes before he talks again. "Four weeks ago, I was fine. But now, she's this freaking time bomb, but it's like she doesn't even care. I'm the one who's panicking." He's met with Scott's thoughtful silence, which doesn't do much in the way of inspiring confidence. It also doesn't do much to lessen that weight pressing down hard against his chest, even though he had hoped confessing to these worries a second time would make him feel just marginally better. Sighing, Stiles keeps his eyes on the tree directly above their heads instead of looking back over at Scott. "Scotty, I can't do blood." 

  


Stiles doesn't look back over at his best friend, but he knows that the five seconds of quiet that follow his confession are spent with Scott's eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead. "What?" 

  


Stiles sighs a second time as he caves and turns his head to see Scott's predicted confused expression. "She's gonna be in labor, and she's gonna need me, and I'm gonna hit the floor. Literally." 

  


"You don't  know that." 

  


" Dude ," Stiles scoffs. "She scratched herself the other night doing that shifty thing, and I had to sit down. A  scratch , Scott." 

  


"She's shifting like that again?" 

  


"Not the point." He shoots Scott a look because he's not sure if this is an Alpha thing or a the-pack's-gotten-ridiculously-excited-about-the-pup thing, but lately, Scott's way more interested in Malia than he is Stiles. Actually, the whole pack is more interested in Malia than almost anything else. "But yeah," he finally admits with a wave of his hand. "When she has contractions, she starts to lose control." 

  


"But pain - " 

  


" - Has never been her anchor. Deaton's said it'll probably get worse the closer she gets to having the pup. Which means she's going to be shifting and I'm going to be unconscious." The weight that is probably going to suffocate him when he gets just distracted enough to forget about it hasn't gone away. It's not any lighter, either, even though he's spilled all of this to Scott. And to make matters worse, his best friend is speechless now because he's never been the one to come up with the plan. "You’ve gotta help me out here, bro," Stiles finally says when Scott's been quiet for too long. 

  


Scott's eyes are wide when he finally turns his head. "What do you want  me  to do?" 

  


"If I go down, you gotta be there." The suggestion isn't really as impulsive as it seems. Lately, he's had a lot of sleepless nights to lay awake beside Malia and imagine these scenarios where he misses the birth of their daughter because no amount of time spent with the pack has increased his tolerance for blood. But until the words leave his mouth, Stiles hadn't really been sure he'd ever ask. "I'm serious. You have to be there so she's not alone. She'll try to fight you on it, but you can't listen. You're her alpha. And if I can't hold it together- " 

  


"Okay." 

  


Stiles stops, watching Scott for nearly a minute without saying anything. "Really? I had like five arguments ready to go." 

  


Scott shakes his head, clapping a hand on Stiles's shoulder. "I'll do it. If you need me to be there, I'll be there." It's an alpha thing. Stiles doesn't know how he knows it, he just does. Scott's eyes don't have to flash red and his claws don't have to make a sudden appearance for him to know that something he said tapped into his best friends inner alpha and his need to protect his pack. And that's good enough for Stiles. 

  


" Dude ." He grasps Scott's own shoulder in response, a silent kind of thanks. "You know I'd do it for you, too." There's a moment of silence during which Scott must forget he's supposed to be supportive during Stiles's time of need and raises a judgemental eyebrow instead. "Okay, I totally wouldn't. I have no desire to see  that  much of Allison." As the thought crosses his mind (followed way too closely by a mental image he wishes he never conjured into existence), it's quickly replaced by the realization that they're talking about  Malia  here, and he sits up so fast, Scott flinches out of instinct, alpha strength and all. "And you - You," he repeats, finger wagging in Scott's direction, "do  not  need to see  that  much of Malia. So in this hypothetical situation where I'm passed out on the floor, you keep those eyes on her face. Face only. Got it?" 

  


Scott's grin is too cocky. Actually, to Stiles, it kind of feels like looking in a mirror - and he hates it. "But I've already seen that much of her." 

  


" Again ," he clarifies, feeling like he may be talking to a toddler. "There's no way you're seeing that much of Malia  again. " 

  


"What about me?" 

  


Stiles’s head whips back around to find Malia standing beside the discarded car seat, having managed to sneak up on him and Scott for the millionth time. Which effectively puts an end to whatever was left of their bro time because she wants to know if the fact that the car seat is still sitting on the driveway means she doesn't have to go to her appointment. (He doesn't hesitate to point out that he was never planning to put her in the car seat, but he admires her effort.) And then there's her appointment, and Scott has to meet Allison, and there's enough going on that Stiles forgets that if he's lucky, he has one more month before he has to worry about  actually  hitting the floor. But at least he has a plan - just in case. He just hopes they don't actually have to use it. 

  


\-----

  


There's just under four weeks between them and a brand new pup when Malia is woken up in the middle of the night by a swift kick to her shin. She snaps awake like she has on other nights lately when her middle tightens uncomfortably around the pup, and it takes her almost an entire minute to realize the pain is radiating from her leg this time. But by then, Stiles is sitting up straight in bed, and her eyes are adjusted enough to see the way his shoulders heave as he wheezes. And the kick starts to make sense. 

  


"Stiles?" she asks tentatively, but he either doesn't hear her or he can't respond. Slowly, she sits up, sliding a hand to rest over his heart where she can feel the way his panic races through his chest while her other arm wraps around his chest. "It's okay. I'm right here." 

  


She's used to the nightmares - they both are, because they both still have them. Only sometimes, not regularly, infrequently enough that they don't ever really talk about them. But occasionally, she wakes up because he's whimpering in his sleep, and other nights he's shaking her awake because she can't stop seeing the accident that killed half of her family every time she closes her eyes. 

  


But that doesn't make it any easier to see him like this. 

  


"Dream..." He manages between small gasps of breath with his eyes still squeezed shut. "You... Pup...  Shit ." 

  


"Hey, I'm right here." Malia presses her hand to his cheek, gently turning his head so she can press her forehead against his own. "It's okay. It's just a dream." 

  


Stiles nods, takes a deep breath that she can feel it rattle around in his chest. It's a panic attack this time, not just a nightmare. Her own chest clenches with the memory of what this feels like when it's her heart that's racing with fear. She ignores it as she keeps talking to him, waiting for his breathing to even and his heart to slow down. "You okay?" she asks him once he's pulled it together again. 

  


"Yeah," he says with a nod of his head and another shaky breath. He runs a hand through his hair as he sighs in the aftermath of this latest panic. But he stops just as suddenly, craning his neck to see her as his hand moves to her bump. "Hey, is she okay? Can you feel her?" 

  


"She's fine." To prove her point, she moves his hand a little higher to where the pup is just starting to stir beneath her skin. Stiles sighs in relief, but even in the dark, she can make out the way his chest still heaves with every breath he takes, and his cheek is clammy beneath her hand. "You're sweating." 

  


He makes a choked sound in response that she thinks was meant to be a laugh before he drops his head to bury his face in the crook of her neck. "So are you," he mumbles against her skin. 

  


"It's hot." 

  


"Are you sure you're okay?" He doesn't lift his head, but his hand moves up and down against the side of the swell of her middle, as if she needs a reminder the pup's there. 

  


" Stiles . I'm just hot." Which is true, though it's a feeling she's still trying to get used to. It's been days of  record breaking heat , which Stiles explained to her means it's  really fucking hot , and Scott (more helpfully) told her that the first week of July has never been this hot before. But  she's  never been this hot before either. She may have gotten used to feeling cold in this body without a fur coat, but the chill was always still there beneath her skin until this summer when she's just  hot . "Are  you  okay?" 

  


"I'm fine," he says in another soft murmur against her skin. "It's just a nightmare." A half-second later, he lifts his head so she can see that his eyes are still a little too wide to match the still too fast beating of his heart. "Has she been this slow all night?"  

  


"We woke her up." 

  


"But was she like this earlier?" 

  


Before Stiles can ask another question, Malia claps a hand over his mouth with a sigh. For a second, his eyes are even wider than before, but then she closes her own, concentrating all of her energy on the pup. Her heartbeat is loud enough and strong enough now that it almost sounds the same as listening to Stiles's. And with Stiles still coming down from his latest panic attack, they're almost the same speed. But she still waits a full minute, listening to the familiar sound of the pup's heartbeat, before opening her eyes and taking her hand away from his mouth. "She sounds fine, okay? She's probably tired." Malia begins to yawn halfway through that last word, as if saying it is enough to remind her of how tired  she  feels, then she tilts her head to the side in thoughtful contemplation. "And hot." 

  


She can sense Stiles's guilt even before he bites his bottom lip or rubs nervously at the back of his neck. But she doesn't understand it, and she's about to ask when he holds out his arm instead, waving her closer. "Just c'mere." 

  


Somewhere in her sleepy mind, Malia knows that he hasn't panicked like this in a while, and she should be concerned that it's showing up again in the middle of the night. But in the next second, she's too exhausted to even think, so she takes his invitation instead, laying back down so her cheek is pressed to the place where his heart is still beating just a little too fast. One of his arms wraps tightly around her waist, anchoring her there, while his other hand starts to rub slow circles over the place where the pup still stirs every so often. "I'm sorry I woke you," he tells her before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

  


" 's okay," she responds after she's finished yawning a second time. Her eyes close without much of a decision on her part, but she also doesn't put up a fight. With any luck, she'll fall back asleep before her body registers that it's only hotter when she's pressed against him like this. But she can't fall asleep at all until she's sure his panic attack is long gone. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

  


The question leaves her mouth as a sleepy slur, and it feels foreign to her lips, even though she knows the walls of his bedroom have heard this question before in the middle of the night. Back when she used to be woken up in the middle of the night by dreams about confined spaces and loved ones and claws she couldn't control, he would ask her the same thing while she cut him off with kisses and a hand sliding down the front of his boxers. But she's too hot and too tired to offer comfort in that way tonight, so she finds herself resorting to his own methods as a way to soothe him. 

  


"I'm good," he says instead of sharing, though. Still, she doesn't need to hear his still racing heart to know that he's not exactly  good . Especially not when he presses firmly against a spot on her belly where he must be able to feel the outline of a tiny foot or a tiny knee or a tiny elbow. And she can feel the heavy weight of his relief when the baby immediately pushes back. "What about you?" 

  


"I'm hot." 

  


He gives another quick laugh, and she uses what little energy she has left to lift her head and glare at him. "You feel hot." He grins as he says it, and her lip automatically curls back in a snarl. "Okay, okay," he says a little more sympathetically as he tugs gently at the sleeve of the shirt she's wearing. "Why don't you take this off?" At first, Malia argues that she's too tired, but he eventually convinces her to sit up and then helps her to undress. When she lays back down, she can feel the cool breeze of the fan against her bare back, and she's almost tired enough to cry in relief. "Better?" he asks softly, and she nods against his chest, mumbling a sleepy thanks. 

  


By then, though, the pup has settled into a regular rhythm of kicks and elbow jabs, and Stiles's heart still hasn't slowed down enough to be a soothing sound. No matter how tired she feels, Malia isn't going to be falling back asleep anytime soon. She lifts her head just enough to rest her chin on his chest once she's admitted defeat. "You still smell scared." 

  


Stiles shakes his head as he brushes a piece of hair away from her clammy forehead. "I'm fine." 

  


"And now you're lying." 

  


"Do you always have to do that? Can't you ever just put the coyote ears away?" Malia gives him a pointed look to remind him that it isn't her supernatural hearing that's the problem, and he sighs in defeat. "It's all just scary, okay?" he admits as he tosses his hand up in the air. "We're in the homestretch here, just waiting on her to decide to vacate." 

  


Malia pushes herself up so she's sitting as she tries to make sense of his fear. The problem is, it's a fear she doesn't have. "It'll be fine," she argues. 

  


Stiles watches her for a long minute in a way that makes her feel like she screwed up. She said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing. Or maybe she just missed something that's inherently human about this situation. It wouldn't be the first time. Lately, she's been avoiding Lydia and that  tone  she uses every time she asks if Malia  really doesn't know what this is . But Stiles doesn't use any tone at all when he asks, "You're really not worried about any of this?" 

  


"I'm worried about what happens when she gets here," Malia answers without a moment's hesitation. 

  


"Yeah. I'm worried about that, too." 

  


"But that's why we're going to find my mom," she says with finality, like it's the only option. It  is  her only option because otherwise, there will be a brand new baby in her arms, and she won't know what to do with her. Or at least, she isn't convinced that this natural instinct that has gotten her this far will continue on past the pup's birth. 

  


Stiles opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it just as quickly. There's another uptick in his heartbeat, too, but it disappears just as quickly. He swallows hard in the silence that follows as his hand finds its way to her bump again. "I'm worried I'm going to pass out," he admits a full minute later. 

  


Malia's confusion shows as she watches him where he's still laying on his back. "Right now?" 

  


"When she's born. I don't do well with blood," he clarifies, looking nervous as his heart speeds up again. "And there's gonna be blood. And I might pass out." He cocks his head to the side in thoughtful silence before shaking his head instead. "I might  definitely pass out." 

  


She almost asks a second time if he means  right now because his face his still pale and his pulse still makes it sound like he's in the middle of a marathon, but she stops herself. She stays silent as she waits for him to finish explaining what happens if he doesn't pass out. It takes her an awfully long minute and a half of silence to realize that  that's  it. He's just worried he'll pass out. "Okay," she finally says with a tiny shrug of her shoulders when she's sure he's not just waiting for his anxiety to pass to finish talking. 

  


"Okay?" he echoes her as his hand moves back and forth in a gentle rhythm against the bump. "Really? That's it?" 

  


"What do you want me to say?" For the second time in the few minutes they’ve been awake, Malia starts to feel like she missed some kind of human cue, and it leaves her feeling more than a little unsettled. 

  


"I don't know. But it's kind of a big deal. I mean, I could miss it." He swallows hard again as his eyes fall away from her face to focus on where the pup just elbowed the palm of his hand. "And I really don't want to miss it." 

  


"It's okay if you do." She doesn't mean to sound callous. She also doesn't mean to feel a little relieved at the idea that he might be unconscious when the pup comes - only because she already has a feeling that giving birth will leave her more vulnerable than she's ever been in her entire life. "I'll be fine," she insists again, and she half expects him to roll his eyes. Unfortunately, this time, he doesn't roll his eyes because his panic hasn't faded at all, judging from his worried expression and elevated heart rate. Gently, she presses her hand against his cheek. "Is that all you're worried about?" 

  


Indecision crosses over his expression, and she watches it move like a wave. One second it's there, like he's about to confess something else, and then it's gone again, replaced by a smirk that contradicts his signature scent of nerves and fear. "I'm worried about fitting her in the Jeep." 

  


Malia's eyes are wide as she nods in response. "Me too." Since the afternoon he and Scott tried - and failed - to put the car seat in the back of the Jeep, her seat has sat in a corner of the garage. Every time his dad has asked, Stiles has had a different excuse for why it's just not the right day to try it again. 

  


"But the Jeep was here first," Stiles says with a shrug of his shoulders as he presses against the outline of her tiny foot again and she kicks back. "So if something has to go..." 

  


In response, Malia growls, eyes flashing blue, but it only makes him laugh, and then she's joining him, settling back into his arms when her laughter leads to another yawn. For a while, he continues to list off worries that aren't any of the fears that would keep them up in the middle of the night. Sometimes, she throws in a worry of her own until it gets too hot to lay pressed up against him, and she pulls away and settles back onto her side underneath the weight of her slowly returning exhaustion. Eventually, she falls asleep before she can make her own confession about her biggest worry, but her dreams are still haunted by the realization that they only have a month  to find her mom, and there hasn't been a lead for weeks. And how is she supposed to figure out how to be a mom on her own? 

  


\---- 

  


With less than 20 days to go, Stiles finds himself in Derek's loft, and that's not even the weird part. He spends a lot of time in Derek's loft anymore -  way  more than he ever wanted to. He refuses to acknowledge the fact that this pup will almost make Derek his family, but Malia takes the whole cousin thing more seriously than he'd like, so she spends a lot of time here. And with it being the central point for all things pack related, Stiles doesn't have a choice in the matter most of the time. Being in Derek Hale's loft is a necessary evil. The weird part is definitely the fact that he's here alone. With Derek. Like it is  literally  just him and Derek. And he swears, he  really doesn't know how he ends up in these situations. 

  


Except, this time, his motivation is pretty obvious. It's like they have this checklist of things they're working through before Pup arrives, and he put this off for as long as possible. Her crib is waiting in the nursery, her car seat is ready in the Jeep, and Stiles is pretty sure Malia finally gets that she needs to  tell him  when something starts to happen. The only thing left above that ominous item regarding her mom is this conversation he's about to have. 

  


"I thought you said this was important," Derek says as he cuts through Stiles's thoughts and immediately makes him type the word  important  instead of... whatever he was trying to text before Derek so rudely interrupted him. 

  


"Yeah. I did," he responds without looking up from his phone. "'Cause when I text '911' now, everyone assumes it's about Malia." 

  


"Well, gee, I wonder why." Derek's smile is too smug as he crosses his arms over his chest, and his tone is way too sarcastic for a guy who used to not know how to laugh. Stiles never should've told Malia and Scott he'd take this bullet for the team. Instead of threatening to leave, though, he settles for taking his sweet, sweet time in finishing his text message. Derek's impatience shows when he shifts his weight to his other foot. "Are you ever gonna tell me why you're here?" 

  


Stiles raises an eyebrow in Derek's direction as he finally looks up from his phone and gives it a shake for emphasis. "Sorry to break it to you, buddy, but Malia going into labor trumps everything else right now." 

  


Derek's eyes grow wider. "She's in labor?  Now ? And you're  here ?" 

  


"Calm down there, Uncle Derek," Stiles says as he holds up the hand that's not furiously typing one last text. "Nothing's happening now. But I wouldn't  know  that if I didn't check in." With a slightly over-the-top sigh, Stiles finally discards his phone on the table in front of him. "She's sleeping off a night of panic right now. And by panic, I mean mine." 

  


"Is that why you're here?" Before Stiles has a chance to say anything, Derek holds his hands up, palms out. "You know I don't know - " 

  


"But you  do ," Stiles insists with a shake of his head. "I mean, she's about to have  my kid , so we're talking about debilitating panic here. But this kid's also half dog. You," he continues with an obvious gesture towards Dereks. "Also born half dog." Something about the way Derek squares his jaw and crosses his arm back over his chest tells Stiles he's not amused, but Stiles fear of Derek died somewhere around the time he watched the guy melt over one of Malia's impulsive hugs that was forceful enough to almost knock him down. So instead of apologizing or taking back his words, Stiles smirks as he clarifies, saying, "I need to know about born wolves, preferably before there's a born coyote sleeping in my room." 

  


"That's your first mistake. Whatever you d0, don't put her in your room." 

  


" Seriously ? Are you saying this newborn is going to try to claw out my throat while I'm  sleeping ? Isn't there like a dad exemption?" 

  


Stiles must pale more than he realizes, or maybe this is just leftover panic from the night before, but something makes Derek crack before Stiles can really even embarrass himself. 

  


"Dude, you're not funny," Stiles says over Derek's laughter. "Stick to the wolf thing because there's seriously no future for you in comedy." 

  


"Oh, c'mon, Stiles. What is there to know? You’re already part of a pack.”

  


"Yeah, a pack of adults. Most of whom aren't coyotes." 

  


"So?" Derek challenges, looking way too amused for Stiles's liking. "You helped Scott figure this whole thing out more than I did." 

  


"By duct taping his hands behind his back and throwing balls at him," Stiles says exasperatedly, not even trying to hide his frustration. "I can't do that to a  baby ." 

  


"Well, I'm glad you realize that." 

  


"You know what? This was a mistake. We'll just talk to Deaton" Stiles hastily  picks his phone up and shoves it back into his pocket. Derek's chastisement is the final straw because Stiles lives with enough paralyzing self-doubt coursing through his veins. Even in the form of a joke, he doesn't need to hear it from anyone else. The problem, of course, is that this leaves them exactly where they were before. Derek and Scott already talked to Deaton, and there wasn't much he could share because he didn't have much contact with the cubs of the Hale pack, and he hadn't known Malia even existed until she was much older. Plus, Derek's the only one who's lived through this before, but Stiles's patience is wearing too thin for this conversation. He's serious enough to turn his back and start for the door before Derek sighs somewhere behind him. 

  


"Stiles, wait." 

  


"No, Man. It's cool." 

  


"I can tell you what it'll be like when she starts shifting." Stiles pauses, taking a good, long second to think about how much he  still  hates Derek before he reluctantly turns back around. He came here in the first place to hear about what it would be like to watch Pup navigate this werecreature card she's been dealt, and if Derek's willing to cut his comedic routine bullshit, Stiles might just be willing to listen. 

  


"So she's not gonna do it right away?" Stiles asks before he's really decided if he's staying. 

  


"Probably not. At least, if it's the same as it is for wolves, it'll start small. You'll notice her claws or her eyes. Eventually, she'll be able to shift. And according to the Bestiary, she'll be able to do a full-shift like Malia." 

  


Stiles didn't plan to feel as relieved as he does at this news. But it's comforting to know that they'll ease into this whole pup thing. He can handle claws and flashing eyes much better than he can finding a tiny coyote waiting for him in his daughter's crib. There's also some kind of warm feeling that comes with knowing that Derek's read up on werecoyotes in the Bestiary, but recognizing that there's some kind of warm feeling attached to this knowledge makes Stiles's skin crawl. It's nice and all, but he doesn't have to go and feel appreciative towards Derek  freaking  Hale of all people. 

  


At least, the feeling disappears when Derek decides to mention that there are exceptions - like Cora, who was born with a tail. 

  


"Malia's afraid she'll get scared," Stiles says, mostly to distract himself from the idea of his daughter coming out looking like a puppy, when Derek stops for longer than a few seconds. "When she shifts the first time. Malia thinks she'll be terrified." 

  


In response, Derek is quiet long enough for Stiles to start to feel a little nauseous. Because the pup is sweet and innocent and tiny, and now he has to find a way to make this better for her. "It'll be different than it was for Malia," Derek finally says without answering in the affirmative or the negative. "She'll be too small to remember what it felt like. I don't know what it'll feel like for her, but it's better this way." 

  


Better than what ? is the question on the tip of Stiles's tongue. He's standing only a few feet from the couch where he watched Malia to fight for control of her own body back when the baby was just starting to shift, so it's not like he can deny the fact that his daughter is going to be born with one hell of a split personality. His frustration coupled with his confusion must show, though, because Derek is quick to clarify. "Deaton told me you've been talking to him about Wolfsbane." 

  


Stiles sighs as his eyes drift to the window behind Derek. "I'm not going to try anything for the record." His head drops as he stares at the surface of the table instead of back at the werewolf in front of him again. "There's nothing that wouldn't affect Malia, too." 

  


He doesn't really remember when the conversations started, but he knows that it started with a middle-of-the-night conversation not long enough after their little scare caused by that stuffed dog filled with Wolfsbane. After he had regained the ability to breathe (because a week after she hadn't been able to hear the pup, there didn't seem to be any good reason she'd be waking him up in the middle of the night), she added a slew of worries about the pup's pup status to their constantly growing list. And in response, Stiles had brought up the dog. 

  


"And Malia doesn't want to do that to the baby," Derek finishes without prompting, which is exactly how the conversation ended, but Stiles wasn't expecting him to know that. He raises his head with a questioning look. "She had that taken away from her," Derek explains. "First, when she was trapped as a coyote, and then again when you and Scott changed her back. She doesn't want to do that to your daughter." 

  


"Yeah," Stiles says, trying not to sound as amazed as he feels that Derek figured all of that out in a matter of seconds and it had taken Stiles nearly an hour in the middle of the night. "And I get it - I think. But I still don't know how to make this easier." 

  


"You'll figure it out." 

  


It might be the nicest thing Derek's ever said to him, and that's before he spends the next hour offering up whatever information he has. He remembers more about being around baby werewolves than Stiles expected him to, but a couple of times, he stops mid sentence and then picks up again somewhere else, and Stiles remembers that eight people were killed in the Hale house fire, neither of them the sisters that he's met. But he talks about full shifts and first shifts and the importance of a pack. He doesn't know much about this weird Alpha thing Scott has going on because because Derek's mother was also his alpha, but he does know that her shifts will be connected to her emotions at first, and she'll most likely shift on a full moon. By the time Malia texts him post-nap to find out where he is, Stiles is almost starting to feel grateful that she has a cousin like Derek Hale. 

  


And then her cousin seals the deal when he's headed towards the door. "You'll be good at this," he says without any pretense, and Stiles freezes, sure that he's heard wrong. He takes his time turning back around to face Derek. 

  


"Really? You're not sure I'm gonna drop her on her head or something equally as stupid?" 

  


"You'll probably do that too," he says with a smirk. "But you helped Malia figure this out when she was human. You've been really good for her. You're really good for both of them." 

  


The unnecessary friendliness of the whole exchange makes his skin crawl again. He's used to tolerating Derek Hale, not this sudden urge to pull him into a hug. And he's definitely not used to feeling  lucky  that Malia has made them something like family to one another. He almost turns to leave without saying anything at all, but at the last second, he changes his mind and says, "Yeah, well, you're pretty okay too." 

  


And he doesn’t say it out loud, but he thinks that Pup is going to have a pretty okay uncle, too. 

  


\---- 

  


They make it until two weeks before due date without any more panic attacks. There's no more contractions that wake her up in the middle of the night, no nightmares that leave him gasping for breath. And then suddenly, there's an appointment that ends with a comment about  if  they're back the following week, and Stiles is so pale on the way home, Malia doesn't even ask what the doctor meant, but she has a pretty good idea on her own. 

  


And they  still  haven't found her mom. 

  


Now that it's summer, she has too much time on her hands. Enough time to go to yoga with Lydia and Allison and to reclaim her spot on Derek's couch on lazy afternoons and to spend weekend mornings with Stiles and his dad, talking about how soon the baby will be there without both of their hearts beginning to race. But it's also enough time to make a list of all of the things she still doesn't know how to do. Like swaddle a baby -  she doesn't know how to swaddle  anything . She had never even heard the word swaddle before Lydia used it in the middle of the pack meeting last Friday. And the diapers Allison stocked in the changing table the last time she was there already look confusing. And every time Malia asks what they do when Pup cries, Stiles laughs and tells her she's adorable, like he thinks she's telling a joke. But she's not finding any of this funny. 

  


Instead, she's starting to feel like Stiles smells, all nerves and fear and just the right amount of panic to round it all out. She  needs  to find her mom. It's instinctive, just like she knows Pup is scared when she's up in the middle of the night with contractions, and she knows the baby's going to come soon. She needs to find her mom  before  she has to be someone else's mom. 

  


Tonight, she's determined to get her answer. It's easy once Stiles is talking to himself as he tries to solve the debacle of where they should sleep tonight one second (The window unit that's older than him is currently losing to the July heat, and neither of them is sleeping well - mostly because she's uncomfortable and too stubborn to say so), and then he's snoring on the couch the next before the 4th inning of the game has even started. She slips upstairs, knowing she won't be missed, for some much-needed alone time with the board in his bedroom. 

  


There's an invisible line drawn down the middle, separating the pup side from the Desert Wolf side. It's the latter she's concerned with tonight, tracing Stiles's lines with her finger as she tries to figure out the connections he sees there. She knows he's keeping something, she just doesn't know what that something is. But she knows Scott and Stiles know something they haven't told her yet. There's too many abruptly ended conversations when she walks in the room, too many silent conversations when she's been in the room the whole time, too many afternoons when Stiles and Scott just have to "run an errand." And she's determined to figure out what that missing piece they won't tell her is tonight, starting with a phone call to Derek. 

  


By the time she hears Stiles yell her name, she's been off the phone with her cousin for nearly five minutes, and she's rearranged three pieces on the board after hearing what Braeden contributed the last time they talked. She's also ditched her clothes for a pair of his boxers and a tank top and pulled her hair in to a messy ponytail, but she's still sweating in the upstairs room. 

  


"Malia!" he calls a second time, but she doesn't look away from the board, even when he's sliding into the room and crying out as his shoulder smacks into the door frame. "Hey," he says breathlessly, trying to fake calm as he cradles his shoulder with his opposite hand. "What's going on? Any pup action?" 

  


"No," she says without looking away from the board, her hand automatically falling to rest against her bump. "She's kicking." When he's still wheezing a few seconds later, she finally looks over to where he's bent in half, hands resting on his knees. "Were you running?" 

  


"You disappeared!" 

  


"You fell asleep." 

  


"Because some of us can't function on like two hours of sleep," he says, which is a total exaggeration of his lack of sleep, but she's immersed in the board again. In fact, she thinks she's onto something, smiling widely as she moves one more news article about an animal attack that could be linked to her mother between a picture from one of Braeden's sources and a snippet from Tucson's police blotter. She's feeling pretty proud of herself by the time Stiles slides up behind her, resting his hand at the top of the swell of her middle and then moving it down a little when he figures out where she is. "Holy  cow . Is she trying to work out a cramp in there?" 

  


Malia shakes her head without looking away from the board. "She heard your voice." 

  


"Seriously?" Once again, she just nods. "Oh my god. She's a total spaz. I think I might love her. Like a lot." Malia hears everything that he's saying, but none of it registers because she's just spotted that missing piece. She immediately snatches the post-it note that's ended up on the wrong side of the board, in the bottom corner just below the Pup Countdown (14 days) and the tally marks they started using again to keep track of pup kicks now that the baby - most of the time - has slowed down. She reads it three times to make sure that it's an address before she adds it to the string of evidence she's put together. 

  


"Stiles," she says as she straightens up again, his front pressed to her back. "I think I figured it out." 

  


Unfortunately, he didn't hear a word of what she said. "So is this like the baby equivalent of her wagging her tail? Because if so, that's freaking adorable." 

  


" Stiles ." This time, she pats his hand where it rests against her bump in an attempt to get his attention. “I think I know where my mom is." 

  


"C'mon, Mal. You could pop her out tonight and then there’s no more cute pup kicks. We can talk later." 

  


But she's waited almost four  years  for this, and she's far too impatient to wait any longer. She pulls his hand away from where the baby is starting to settle down as she turns around to face him. "But I figured it out," she says again as she takes his face in her hands, leaving little room for other distractions. "She's in Arizona. It's all right here." And then she's too excited to just stand there, so she pulls away, gesturing to each of the pieces of the puzzle as she explains it to him, eventually coming back to the address. She pulls it off the board again with a triumphant smile. "I think this is it. I think this is where she is." But by the time she's turned back around, it's painfully clear that Stiles doesn't share her excitement. 

  


"Malia," he sighs as he uncrosses his arms to rub at the back of his neck. "We stuck that up there on a whim. We don't know if the address means anything. It's just a hunch." 

  


If she wasn't still shaking from the realization that they just found her mom's location, she would hear the sound of his lie. She would smell his guilt and hear the way his heart sped up and sense that something was far from right here. But she's too excited after these long, seemingly neverending months of searching, and her pride over being the one to figure it all out blinds her to what's right there in front of her. "Okay. So let's go. Let's find out if she's there."

  


"We will." He reaches out to rub her arms, and her chest starts to feel tight at the first sign that this won't end well. "We will. Just as soon as Pup decides to vacate," he says with a quick nod towards her middle. 

  


Immediately, her heart sinks. "But that's two weeks," she says, and her voice sounds desperate and weak in her own ears. "I'm not due for two weeks. We can't wait another two weeks." 

  


"We can't just take off on a road trip right now." One of his hands moves back to her swollen middle, like she needs a reminder of why a road trip should be out of the question right now. "It's ten hours away. There's no way you'd make it that long in a car." 

  


Her desperation gives way to annoyance as she shoves his hand away from her belly and shakes her arm free of the other. He looks hurt for the next ten seconds, but then his frustration matches her own as he crosses his arms and sets his jaw. "I'd be fine," she says.

  


"Fine, you’re always fine. But we're not going." 

  


"That's not fair!" she insists, aware that she sounds like a child when she says it. She's also aware of the fact that her claws are now digging into the palms of her hands, and there are angry tears beginning to well in her eyes. None of the above is enough to stop her, though. "You have your dad here, Stiles. I get to have this." 

  


Stiles scoffs, and it feels like he's laughing  at  her, which does nothing for her anger. "So what? I'm supposed to feel guilty?" 

  


"That's not what I said-" 

  


"And no one's taking anything away from you, Malia. We'll go, but there's no way we're going now." 

  


She crosses her arms in stubborn defiance. "I'm going." 

  


"Why?" he asks instead of insisting that she can't go or laughing at her for thinking that she can get herself across the state line without a license. "Why do you care so much?" 

  


Because she doesn't know what their pup will be capable of. Because she's never changed a diaper or mixed a bottle or played a game of peek-a-boo that she can remember. Because she's still not sure she can do this. "Because she's my  mom ," she tells him instead. 

  


He watches her for so long, she starts to think she's won him over. Like he's going to give her a list of conditions, and they'll forget this fight ever happened. But then he speaks again, and she immediately wishes he hadn't. "She left you, Malia," he says. "And she did it again when she found out you were looking for her. She  killed  someone, okay? You saw that motel room. It sucks, I get that, but maybe she's just a shitty mom." 

  


It feels like a slap to the face. He  looks  like he just slapped her not even a second after the words leave his mouth, and the guilt is rolling off of him in waves. And she doesn't know what to say after that. Her fight is gone, stolen by the realization that he's not really on her side. Back when they were still in high school, he had worked on finding her mom longer and harder than anyone else. He had been the last one to accept that the trail had gone cold, and they had to accept that they had hit a hard dead end in their search. And this time, he had seemed eager to help her do this. He had wanted to find her mom, too, and he had thrown himself into that search. 

  


Now, she doesn't even have his faith that they'll find her and that it'll be worth it. She's left with nothing. 

  


"Malia," he says when she's still just silent. He takes a step forward, and she automatically takes a step back. The hand he was about to touch her with moves awkwardly to the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean -" 

  


"It's okay." 

  


"No, it's not. I'm seriously  s0  sorry. I shouldn't have - " 

  


" Stiles . It's  okay . I don't want to talk about it anymore." 

  


And they don't. He opens his mouth, but then he closes it without saying another word. She's aware of the fact that he's still there, watching her, but she doesn't look at him again as she unmakes her side of the bed and lays down with her back to him. She's not really asleep when he lays down an hour later, apologizing again as he presses kisses to the crown of her head, but she lets him keep that illusion anyways. And when his own breathing settles into that familiar, steady pattern that she recognizes as well as her own, she flips back over to look at the board again, formalizing her plan. 

  


Because she's never been this close before, and she can't give up now. 

  


\---- 

  


Stiles wakes up with the strong taste of regret in his mouth and the sheets pooled around his ankles. The memory of the night before doesn't come back slowly. There's no slow-building, stomach-twisting realization that he's kind of a jerk who may have broken her heart a little bit last night; there's just a sharp kick-to-the-balls kind of reminder that he's an asshole as soon as he opens his eyes. And when he turns his head, Malia’s not there. 

  


It's a suckerpunch that steals his breath, one that he should've seen coming.  Okay, so maybe he did see it coming. Maybe he had predicted this on that night when his incessant Googling finally hit  something  and Scott immediately insisted that they tell her what they had found. But Stiles was an idiot. The kind of idiot who thought it was a good idea to keep this a secret until they had some kind of confirmation. And more than a month later, he's waking up to an empty half of the bed, unsure why secrecy seemed like such a good idea in the first place. 

  


With a sigh, he throws a hand over his eyes, feeling exhausted already with the knowledge of what the day will bring. He screwed up last night; he still has his hastily chosen words running through his mind on a loop to remind him. Now, he's succeeded in backing himself into a corner where the only choice is to sit her down and tell her the truth - just as soon as he finds her in whatever part of the house she's retreated to. Still, he procrastinates as he tries to figure out how to word what he has to say, knowing that he can't afford a repeat of the night before if his emotions get in the way. He's in the middle of texting Scott about what an asshole boyfriend he is when his phone alerts him to a new email instead with Braeden's address right there. 

  


It becomes the second suckerpunch of the day. 

  


Braeden left Beacon Hills behind when she started to feel claustrophobic staying in the same place for too long, but that doesn't mean she gave up her alliance with the pack. She's been reaching out to her contacts again for updates since they asked for her help, and one of her contacts finally came through, according to the email. It's the confirmation Stiles told Scott he was waiting for, the last missing detail to complete the profile they've formed of her mom. Unfortunately for Stiles, this completed picture makes him wish they had never started looking for her again. 

  


But he owes Malia right now. At this point, he's so far into the dog house, he's basically become one with the dog house, thanks to his mouth and its inability to ever censor itself. He can't take back his poorly chosen words, but he can at least be honest with her now. 

  


He forgets about finishing his text to Scott as he finally drags himself out of bed in order to find his girlfriend... who he quickly realizes isn't in any of the places he thought she would be. She's not in the shower or in the nursery or at the kitchen table. There's a fleeting moment of panic when a thorough search of the entire house turns up no trace of Malia, but then it's replaced by guilt when he realizes she just needed more distance than the house provides. 

  


The panic rears its ugly head again, though, within the hour when he's walking past the front door and finds her running shoes. And while the rational part of his mind is sure there's a reasonable explanation for the fact that his girlfriend who copes with physical activity is gone and her shoes are sitting right there, the part of his brain ruled by his heart is on the verge of losing it. Somehow, he manages to hold it together long enough to find his phone in his pocket. 

  


"Hey, it's me," he says when four rings give way to her voicemail, her voice annoyed and his just audible in the background as he coaches her through it. "Look, I get that you don't want to be here right now, but I just want to know you're okay... So, call me, okay? Or text Scott and have him call me... Okay. Love you." 

  


As soon as he hangs up, he starts texting the rest of the pack. Malia's not one to seek out companionship, but she spends more time than he thinks he even knows about in Derek's loft, and she seems to like the way Allison and Lydia have kind of run with the whole baby thing. Plus, they don't fight nearly enough for him to know if she needs to vent to someone else about the jerk he really is afterwards. So he texts Lydia and Allison to make sure he didn't forget about plans they had or his girlfriend didn't decide to confide in one of them. He texts Scott to ask if he's seen or heard from her, and then he bites the bullet and texts Derek to make sure Malia hasn't found refuge there. And then he waits. 

  


It doesn't take long. Allison responds first to tell him that she hasn't talked to Malia since the afternoon before at the same time Scott texts him back to say he hasn't seen her, and is everything okay? He's getting ready to respond to both of them when Lydia gets back to him with a simple  no . That's when his chest really starts to feel tight. 

  


He fights the way his lungs want to give out on him as he tries her phone again and hits her voicemail  again . He curses under his breath as he listens to her frustratedly ask him to leave a message while he praises her in the background and tries to correct her curt ending. "Hey, me again," he says, voice becoming muffled as he runs a hand over his face. "Just want to know where you are, okay? You can just text me, I don't care. I really just want to know you're okay. And Mal? I really am sorry. Love you." 

  


This time, he hangs up to call Melissa and ends up leaving her a message, too, because maybe Malia went to her. He thinks about calling his dad immediately after that, but he decides against it because they're in the middle of Baby Watch, and he thinks he might've handled it better than his dad did the last time Malia was up in the middle of the night. And his dad didn't even  know  about it until the morning. But even more than the fact that he doesn't want to make his dad freak out when there's no pup action, he doesn't want to have to relive the fight just yet. Plus, he's sure there's a reason why she's gone and her shoes are here. There's no reason to freak out, even if his heart thinks otherwise. 

  


Stiles paces in the front of the house for a while, religiously watching the driveway for any signs of Malia. He leaves her another voicemail. He fields another text from Allison, then another one from Scott. The third time she responds, Allison asks if Malia left a note, and even though that doesn't sound like Malia, it can't hurt to check his room again. He takes the stairs two at a time back up, checks every surface in his room, reads over the board to find that she didn't let him know where she was going, but she added that the pup did something at six this morning, manages not to throw up even though that's kind of what he wants to do at this point. And that's before he makes one last call to her phone. 

  


And then he hears it. 

  


He jumps at the sound of her ringtone the first time it fills the room, and it launches his heart into the back of his throat where it stays tightly wedged after he turns around to find her phone on the nightstand. It rings twice, three times, four times before it goes to her voicemail and he hears her again as she tells him to leave a message and Past Stiles coaches her in the background. Because he had told her that having a voicemail was a necessity to having a phone, just like being able to text and learning how to set it on  silent  so it didn't wake him up in the middle of the night were things she needed to learn how to do. And then he had dropped not-so-subtle reminders for weeks until she finally got into the habit of never leaving the house without it. 

  


And now it's here, sitting right there in front of him, and  she's gone . 

  


Stiles listens to the radio silence of her voicemail long enough for it to hang up on him while he's watching her phone like she'll come back into the room any second to pick it up. But he's already checked the entire house. Her phone is here, and her shoes are here, and she's due in 12 days. And they don't fight. They don't even really disagree on things, and when they do, someone always caves before the conversation is even over. But she's been holding onto this hope of finding her mom ever since she found out she's pregnant, and he took that away from her last night because he was too afraid to tell her the truth. And now her phone is here, and her shoes are here, but  Malia's gone . 

  


The robotic voice of the operator asking him to hang up finally pulls him out of his mounting panic enough to hang up the call and immediately dial Scott. His best friend picks up on the first ring. 

  


"Hey, man. Did you find her?" 

  


"Scott, I screwed up." Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registers that his voice is shaking almost in perfect sync with his hand before he brings his hand up to rest against the back of his head in an attempt to stop it. It's harder to ignore the tears that are already swimming at the edge of his vision. 

  


"Wait, what?" 

  


"I screwed up." His voice breaks over the last word, but he doesn't really notice that either. "I really screwed up this time, and now she's gone." 

  


"Who's gone, Stiles?" He can practically hear the way Scott's eyes flash alpha red through the phone, and it doesn't do much to subdue the building anxiety. " Malia ?" 

  
"She left, Scott. Malia left, and I have no idea where she is." 


	9. Ninth Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, there is an update! The next (and final) chapter will (hopefully) be up much sooner. Just a quick note - an earlier visit to Eichen House happened before the return to Eichen House in season five, so in this 'verse, there is no mountain ash barrier keep anyone out of the supernatural wing. As always, thanks for all of the kudos and comments. Enjoy! :)

Her mother is seven hours away, according to the robotic voice on the GPS. It started at ten hours, just like Stiles said it would. It's been almost two since Malia realized she doesn't have her phone. 

It wasn't intentional to leave it there on the corner of his desk, just like it wasn't _quite_ intentional to leave without telling him where she was going. There was a moment earlier that morning when she sat beside him while he slept, contemplating whether or not this sudden need to go to that address stuck on his board counted as an emergency. But each time she was about to gently shake him awake, she remembered the scent of frustration that rolled off of him in waves even after he had fallen asleep the night before, and the way he had insisted that they wait to find her mother now that the pup was almost there. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the hurt feeling that settled heavily in her heart every time she heard him remind her again that _maybe her mother was just a shitty mom all along_. Her fear of someday becoming the same kind of monster for her own daughter made it easy to leave him sleeping while she slipped quietly out the door. 

Three hours in, her shoes are discarded on the floormat of Derek's car, her legs are folded beneath her, and she's beginning to wonder if Derek's focused enough on the road to not notice if she quickly borrows his phone to text Stiles. Because after three hours, she's also beginning to question her decision to leave him there asleep. 

"Everything okay?" 

At the sound of her cousin's voice, Malia finally pulls her eyes away from the window to her right to look back over at him. He steals a quick glance at her before looking back at the road, one eyebrow raised in an echo of his question. "I'm fine," she answers easily with a small shrug of her shoulders. 

"What about her?" he asks with a small nod towards her swollen middle. Malia looks down to where her hand rests high on her pup bump. Three hours is a long time for her to sit still anymore, and the pup has chosen to express her unhappiness by kicking Malia's ribs repeatedly. At some point, Malia started to press back against her feet in an attempt to encourage her to move, but with no real room left for her to move, her hand's been stuck there for a while. 

"She won't stop kicking," Malia tells him while the baby presses against the tips of her fingers like she somehow knows they're talking about her. Derek laughs in response, and Malia is left feeling a little confused because she wasn't trying to be funny. 

For half a minute, they fall back into a comfortable silence with the exception of Derek's music. It's something she doesn't know, but it's a far cry from the 80s rock cassette tapes Stiles plays in the Jeep and the Jeep chooses to spit out after every sixth song. For the first hour, Malia couldn't focus too hard on the music or her eyes would start to sting with the onset of tears because it was yet another sign Stiles wasn't there. But with the ice broken once between them, Derek has an easier time starting the next conversation when he asks, "So, what's the plan when you get there?" 

The _plan_. Tears prick the corners of her eyes again because Stiles is the one who comes up with the plans. "I don't know," she has to admit to him instead. 

"But you know she's there?" 

"Scott and Stiles think so." 

Malia doesn't miss the way the corners of Derek's mouth turn down, and there's an uptick in his scent as he becomes increasingly curious. "But they didn't want to come?" 

"I didn't ask Scott."

Derek steals another glance at her. "What about Stiles?" 

"You don't ever talk this much," she says as she looks back down to where her lap used to be. 

"You don't normally call me first thing in the morning asking if we can go to Tucson," he counters, and there's not much she can say to that. A few years of practice have made her a better driver, but she stopped driving weeks ago when she started to feel a little claustrophobic behind the wheel. And without Stiles to drive her across the state line, Derek seemed like the next logical choice - a feeling that strengthened when he answered on the first ring, asking her if everything was okay instead of if it was _Go Time_ the way Stiles always does now. Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on the front porch waiting for him when he pulled up, eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead when he asked _No Stiles?_ ,to which she had responded _No Stiles_ , and they had both just let it go until right now. "Is there something I should know about Stiles?" he asks. 

Malia sighs in response as she shifts in her seat, scrunching up her nose as she tries to find a more comfortable position. But arching her back and shifting her hips do little to alleviate the pressure in the small of her back or encourage the pup to take a break from her incessant kicking. If anything, all of this talk about Stiles seems to have made the baby more restless, but it probably has something to do with the panic beginning to settle beneath Malia's skin. 

"You need to stop again?" Derek asks before she's answered his last question. 

Malia shakes her head. "I need her to stop kicking my ribs." She presses against what she thinks are tiny feet again while a voice somewhere in the back of her mind that sounds suspiciously like her boyfriend reminds her again that there's no way she can last ten hours in a car. Her eyes burn with the threat of tears again, even though she doesn't understand where they keep coming from, because she has a feeling Stiles may have been right. "Maybe we should stop," she admits after a moment of consideration, slightly more subdued. 

He gives a nod to let her know that he heard, checking over his shoulder before moving into the right lane so he can take the next exit. "And you want to let me know what's going on with Stiles?" 

"He didn't want to go," she finally sighs as she accepts the fact that Derek isn't going to give up, no matter how many shiny distractions she offers. "He thought we should wait until after the baby's born." 

"So why didn't you?" 

"Because I waited 21 years already," she says, slightly exasperated, as she lets her head fall back against the headrest. She watches him out of the side of her eyes, arms wrapping around her pup bump. "She's my _mom_ , and I'm about to be a mom. I need to see her." 

Derek nods again, his expression unreadable in his profile. He doesn't argue her like Stiles did; instead, he reaches over and gives her knee a gentle squeeze. Scott has told her before that family is important to Derek, and Stiles told her about the Hale fire once when she asked about what happened to the people who would've been her aunt and uncle. It makes sense, then, that Derek might be the most understanding of her need to find where she came from. 

"Just be cautious," he says as he guides the Toyota onto an off ramp. "Peter didn't always keep the best company. And we know your mom could be dangerous when she wanted to be. So just - Just be careful," he says with a sigh as his hand moves from her knee to her swollen middle. "Especially with my niece." 

Malia opens her mouth to argue that she's always careful - Stiles makes sure of it - but she's cut off by the sound of Derek's phone vibrating against the console where it's been sitting. It goes dark again for a split second, but then it's like rapidfire, vibrating incessantly as the list of names on the screen grows longer and longer. Even Malia can reason that there must not have been any service on the stretch of expressway they had been on as she watches Stiles's name, then Lydia's, Scott's, and Allison's appear in that order. The numbers next to each name grow, and then there are missed calls in between. The last message to appear is from a number Derek doesn't have listed, but Malia knows it because it's stored in her own phone: it's Stiles's dad. 

The knot of regret that's been forming slowly in the pit of her stomach since she realized she forgot her own phone pulls so tight, even the pup stills inside her. 

"Malia," Derek says evenly, too evenly, in a way that would let her know he was forcing it even if she couldn't catch the scent of his mounting frustration. "Did you tell Stiles where you were going?" 

\----

There is no requirement in the state of California for how long a person has to be missing to truly be _missing_. It's something Stiles is newly grateful for because by ten o'clock, he has pronounced Malia _Missing_ with a capital M. 

He's been up for just over two hours, at the station for almost fifteen minutes, paced the length of his dad's office more than twenty times. For some reason, his mind has always gravitated towards math even though he doesn't have the patience for problems beyond long division, and it's numbers that fill his mind now. Like Pup is due in 13 days. Malia weighs just under 150 pounds, according to her last doctor's appointment. He's lied to her twice about her parents. There's an infinite number of places she could be, and that thought makes him want to throw up at least once. 

Scott's phone vibrates against the arm of the chair he's sitting in, and it temporarily breaks the parade of numbers in Stiles's head. He whips back around to face his friend, feeling himself grow more hopeful than he should right up until the second Scott's own face falls. 

"Lydia hasn't heard from Derek. She's heading to the loft now," Scott says, almost dejectedly, as he furiously types back a response. 

Derek is the only person they haven't heard from yet. His dad answered his call on the first ring, cautioning Stiles that he didn't want to know Pup was on her way if they hadn't called Melissa first before Stiles could get a single word in. Allison's kept in touch from where she's currently keeping watch at the Stilinski's, just in case Malia returns while he and Scott are stuck here, waiting for his dad. And Stiles keeps trying to hold onto this idea of her venting to Derek as she sits cross-legged on his couch, her lap disappearing underneath her pup bump. But he has no evidence to prove that she's safe and sound with her cousin. Maybe she's there, but maybe she's far away from Beacon Hills already. Maybe she's off in the woods somewhere alone in labor. Maybe she has no intention of coming back; it's probably what he deserves at this point. 

"Stiles, maybe she's there," Scott says after pocketing his phone again. "Maybe she just needed a break, you know?" 

"Yeah. From me," Stiles scoffs as he goes back to his crusade to wear a path right through the floor. He doesn't know if it makes him feel like more of an asshole or just validated in his belief that he is an asshole when Scott doesn't try to argue him. 

"She'll come back." 

Stiles stops again, turning back around to face Scott. "Scott, she's due in less than two weeks. I can't just sit here and wait for her to decide to come back." 

Before Scott can respond, there’s a courtesy knock on the door before his dad enters into his office, and Stiles forgets Derek even has a loft. 

"Have you heard from her yet?" his dad asks before the door has even closed behind him. Stiles briefed him over the phone while searching the preserve an hour ago, right down to the nitty gritty details of the fight he so stupidly picked with her the night before. Then, his dad had told him to _Calm down, kid. We'll find her, alright?_ Now, his dad looks older than he remembers, or maybe that's just the effect of his night shift bleeding into the afternoon so that he can be the one to handle Malia's disappearance. 

Stiles shakes his head as he replaces his pacing with drumming his open palm against his thigh. "She's not in the preserve. She's not with the girls. Lydia's checking the loft, but Derek hasn't said anything." 

"Is someone at the house? In case she comes back?" 

"Allison is," Scott adds softly from where he's gotten to his feet beside the desk. 

"And you're sure she didn't leave a note?" 

" _Dad_. I wouldn't be here right now if she left a note." After this many years on the force, his dad has the kind of poker face that would probably win him a fortune if he had the poker game to match it, but Stiles still catches the subtle change in his expression. He wears a grimace now instead of that carefully composed look of concentration. 

"And you have the Jeep? She didn't take it?" 

Stiles gives another shake of his head as he takes the chair beside Scott before his knees have the chance to give out. "She wouldn't drive. She can't get comfortable behind the wheel anymore." With a wave of his hand, he indicates the swell of her middle. And once he's done that, his one-track mind is settled back on the pup who responded to his voice last night like the tiny little champ she is and could very well decide to make an appearance before he finds Malia. His foot begins to tap furiously against the linoleum in an attempt to end that line of thought. "But she's gone. _Gone_ gone," he says without looking away from his dad. "So we should start with a Missing Person's report for her. And she didn't tell me where she's going, which technically means we can put out an Amber Alert for the baby." 

"Whoa," his dad cuts him off with a sweep of his arms. "Slow down. No one's putting out an Amber Alert." 

"But Dad - " 

"But _nothing_ , Stiles. You don't want that." 

Stiles scoffs again as he quickly gets back to his feet. "Pretty sure that's _exactly_ what I want." 

His dad counters him wordlessly, at first, by crossing his arms over his chest. "You want to find her waiting for you in a jail cell?" 

"Well, no, but - " 

"Because that's what'll happen. You'll have every officer in the next ten states looking for her, and they'll take her in as soon as they see her." 

Stiles bites his tongue to keep from telling his dad _that's the whole point_. Jail cell wasn't exactly what he was thinking, but the mental image of her sitting in some other police station where she and the baby are both safe and sound is soothing. For having witnessed as much tragedy as he has, Stiles still places a lot of faith in the good guys. He's witnessed too much to be as optimistic as Scott, but he'd place money on the pack more days than not, and his dad's time spent on the force has made him a believer in the power of a good cop. So if he argues that she could require medical attention, he can file a report labeling her _Missing_ and have every officer in a fifty mile radius looking for her. California law also says that this counts as an abduction of his unborn daughter, and the Amber Alert would have her found in half the time. But _jail cell_ didn't cross his mind until right now when he's envisioning her going full-on coyote on the poor officer who has the unfortunate task of handcuffing he. 

_But_ as soon as they finish here, he has no choice but to turn their investigation over to Scott who can follow her scent, and Stiles will assume his role of helpless bystanding human once again. This-the report and the Amber Alert - _this_ he can do. 

"Okay," he finally agrees against his better judgement as he crosses his arms over his chest, silently hoping he's not condemning his girlfriend _and_ his unborn baby to a night in the station. 

"Okay?" His dad watches him quizzically while long seconds tick by. Something tells Stiles this is the part where he's supposed to take it back because yes, he wants her safe, but no, he doesn't want her to gain an intimate knowledge of the inside of a holding cell in the process. He probably _would_ take it back if he wasn't so stubborn. Eventually, his dad gives up instead with a shake of his head. "We're not doing it." 

"We have to," he says, voice rising in volume as his frustration makes his chest feel tight. "You don't get it, okay? It's Malia and the baby." He plans to point out the number of misdemeanors his dad has managed to help him wiggle his way out of over the years, but his voice ends up almost breaking over Malia's name, and he has to stop himself. "This is my _family_ ," he finally says when it feels safe to talk again. "I have to do something." 

It's the first time he can remember even thinking that word _family_. Up until now, it's always just been him and Malia, somewhere between girlfriend/boyfriend and mates depending on which one of them you ask on which day of the week, and then it was them with a baby. But the baby's been an added responsibility in the form of a tiny half-human half-werecoyote, not someone powerful enough to change the entire dynamic of their relationship. The word sticks now, though, like it's playing in some loop in the back of his mind, leaving him volleying between feeling more determined and feeling like he somehow screwed up more than usual this time. 

His dad's expression softens as he places a gentle hand on Stiles's shoulder. "I _do_ get it, kid. That's why we're avoiding the law for now. Don't forget this is my granddaughter here," he cautions with a wag of his finger. "And Malia. So I have two deputies on traffic who're keeping their eyes open. Melissa's going to let us know if she turns up at the hospital. You said Allison's watching the house?" 

Both boys nod before Scott adds, "And Liam and Mason are checking the preserve again. Just in case. 

"Good," the sheriff says with a nod as he turns his attention to Scott. "And I'm sure you're about to do your Alpha thing to track them, correct?" 

"That's the plan." 

His dad assures him once more before that they'll find them. Stiles promises twice more to keep him updated on any communication he's a part of with the rest of the pack. By now, he's more than a little antsy to find something to track her scent with and take off in that direction, and he's pretty sure even his dad can smell it on him because he lets them go after a final reminder to be careful. So it's more of an afterthought, his dad's inner detective refusing to rest, when they reach the threshold of his office and he asks one last question. 

"And no one's heard from Derek?" His expression not betraying his struggle with this piece of the puzzle. And, like some kind of kismet, Scott's phone chooses that moment to go off again. 

Stiles holds his breath for the few seconds it takes Scott to read the message and give a sad shake of his head. This time, his disappointment is quickly replaced by near fury, though, when Scott relays the message to both listening parties. 

"Lydia just texted," he explains, already quickly typing something back. "Derek's not at the loft. His car's gone too." 

\-----

Once Derek starts talking in complete sentences again instead of start-stops that sound a lot like _Why would you_ and _Didn't you think_ , he suddenly doesn't have much to say. And once she's tried to explain the thick, heavy silence that followed their fight and the phone she left on the corner of his desk, Malia doesn't have much to say either. With the exception of the occasional vibrating of his phone and the groan ( _his_ groan) that always follows, it's mostly silent until he pulls into the first gas station they come to. 

His hand immediately goes for his phone once the car is parked, and there's another exasperated sigh as he scrolls through the long, _long_ list of messages that's continued to amass on his phone. She thinks she might be waiting for him to say something else - it's like she can almost _sense_ the lecture he's piecing together in that shame-filled silence - when he presses a button and the same voice that kept telling him to _Turn around when possible_ for the last mile says _You have 23 new messages_ , and she takes it as her cue to leave. By the time she returns from her trip to the bathroom, though, no longer feeling like the baby is invading the space meant for her lungs, Derek is up against the car waiting for her. 

"Call him," he tells her as he holds out his phone without pulling his crossed arms away from his chest. " _Now_." 

She holds her hand out like the phone may bite her if she's not careful, and Derek does her the favor of placing it firmly in her palm. The screen is dark now, and that somehow seems more threatening than when it wouldn't stop buzzing. When she continues to just stare down at the phone, Derek says, "Lydia's waiting on Scott and Stiles to get back from _filing a missing person's report_. You need to let him know that you're fine. _And_ that I had no idea about any of this. " 

She nods, pulling her eyes away from the phone to look back up at him. She doesn't have to wonder if he picks up on her apprehension when he places a gentle hand on her shoulder and his expression softens for the first time since the text messages started rolling in. "I'll be in the car if you need me, okay?" 

“Okay.” Her eyes follow him as he rounds the car and gets back in as promised, and then she’s left alone with the phone. She feels like she might be on the verge of a shift, with that familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach and tension between her shoulder blades. It's been happening again recently, always when those cramps become strong enough to be distracting, and sometimes now it's tied to her emotions. Just a few days ago, Stiles casually mentioned one more time that she could still change her mind about the hospital, and her eyes immediately flashed in response. And now, remembering the gentle way he had pulled her into his arms afterwards and apologized, there's a physical ache in the middle of her chest because she _misses_ him. And all she really wants is to hear his voice. 

With a deep breath, she finally presses the call button and brings the phone to her ear. Stiles picks up halfway through the first ring. 

"Hey, you piece of werewolf shit, I swear to God, as soon as I get - " 

"Stiles," she cuts him off before he can finish the threat. "It's me." 

" _Malia_? Shit. I didn't - Where are you? Are you okay?" On the other end, he makes a sound that's somewhere between a wheeze and a moan, and she knows that sound well enough to know he probably has his eyes closed, and his usual scent of nerves and fear is probably covered up by his relief now. She closes her eyes, too, pressing her back against the car as she soaks in the sound of his voice. Part of her knows it's only been a few hours since she left, but it took only a few minutes to realize this trip should've been made with him. His voice cuts through her thoughts before she ever even answers his last set of questions. "God, Mal, what the _fuck_ were you thinking?" 

"I don't know," she admits, that tight feeling returning to her chest. "I don't know. I just - You said you didn't want to go." 

"I didn't want _you_ to go!" 

"But I _needed_ to." 

“No, you needed to _talk_ to me.” 

“I did!” she says, growing frustrated. “Or I tried. I tried last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” 

On the other end, he’s silent. Her free hand moves back to the top of her bump as the pup picks up on her frustration and lands another hard kick just south of her ribs. She finds herself running her hand back and forth over the spot, soothing both herself and the baby. There's two more kicks in the same place before she hears him take a shaky breath. 

"I know." He sighs, and she can hear the muffled sound it makes when his hand brushes against his phone while he's running it over his face. It makes her miss him more. "I know, Mal. And I'm so sorry." 

"I'm having a _baby_. And I don't know how to do any of this stuff. I need to know who she is, even if it turns out she's not who I think she is." 

"I know. But I just don't think-" 

"I miss you," she cuts him off before he can finish that last thought. She really wasn't listening to anything he just said because she was too focused on the familiar sound of his voice as she pictured him sitting behind the wheel of the Jeep, phone balanced on the edge of the dashboard. She's witnessed this scene from the passenger's seat a hundred times, but she could count on one hand how many times she's been on the other end of that speakerphone call. "I wish you were here." 

"Me too, Mal. God you have no idea." He sounds so sad, she can almost catch his scent through the phone. Or maybe it's a part of her now after it wrapped around her along with his embrace the night before. "But we're coming," he says after he clears his throat. "Do you know where you are?" 

She shakes her head against the phone before she remembers he can't see her. "I don't know. Somewhere in Arizona. We're at a gas station." 

"Then let me talk to Derek, okay?" 

"Okay, I'll - " 

"Wait, Malia. Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." 

"What about the baby?" he asks when she doesn't elaborate. 

Malia huffs as she leans back against Derek's car. "She won't stop kicking my ribs." 

"Yeah?" he says with a laugh. "That's good. Just don't let her move south." She's not sure how to keep the pup from not doing anything, so she's left wondering what to say next. There's silence for so long on Stiles's end, Malia starts to wonder if he thinks she's bringing the phone back to Derek. She's about to ask when he finally talks again. "Listen, Malia, there's something you should know. About your mom." 

"Stop," she says quickly with a wave of her hand even though she's alone against the car with no one there to see. "I don't want to know, Stiles." 

He sighs. "But I really think you need to know where you're headed." 

"Do you think she'll hurt me?" she asks pointedly in response. 

"No, but - " 

"Then I don't want to know." Her voice rings with a sense of finality as she says it a second time. "I need to figure this out, okay? I need to find her for myself." 

It's a decision she came to somewhere between Beacon Hills and the state line, before Derek started asking questions she didn't want to have to answer and she could focus on something other than how much she missed Stiles. The pack as a whole had shouldered the responsibility of tracking down the Desert Wolf, with Stiles leading the investigation because he knew how much it meant to her. And he succeeded, judging from the Post-it note covered in his handwriting that's tucked away in her pocket. But this is _her_ mom, and regardless of the monstrous things her mother might be responsible for, Malia needs just this one meeting - colored by no one's judgement but her own. 

She loves him more than she can put into words when he finally resigns himself to her request."Okay. Then let me talk to Derek." 

\-----

For the first hour after he hangs up with Derek, Stiles relaxes enough to not feel like he's on the verge of a panic attack anymore. He knows that she's not ignoring him or running away or giving birth to their daughter in the middle of the woods. He tells her that he's sorry, he tells her that he loves her, he tells her that he's coming. And then an hour later, there's this incessant urge to call her again to make sure that Pup is still working on her footwork against Malia's ribs and to try one more time to warn her about the address he knows she stole from the board before she left. Before he knows it, his foot is tapping a steady rhythm against the floor, his fingers are drumming against the wheel in the spaces in between, and his dad's voice has appeared out of nowhere, insisting _this is what it feels like to be a parent_. 

He's starting to realize this might be the way the rest of his _life_ feels. And an hour into their drive to find Malia, he thinks he might puke. 

"Hey, man," Scott says, cutting through his thoughts as he places his hand on the steady knee of Stiles's driving leg. "We know she’s with Derek now. She’s fine.” Stiles steals a glance at Scott just long enough to catch the way his best friend's eyes sweep over the dash. "You might want to slow down, too." 

Stiles stops drumming long enough to lift his hand and see for himself that he's going not quite thirty miles over the speed limit. It doesn't help that the Jeep has this bad habit of beginning to shake as soon as it hits 60. " _ **I**_ should be with her," he argues back as he jabs his thumb against his chest. He doesn't say anything to acknowledge that he heard Scott's last comment, but he does reluctantly ease up on the gas. "She still doesn't know," he explains as he starts twisting his hands back and forth on the steering wheel to replace the drumming. "She wouldn't let me tell her about her mom, and I don't know how she's gonna take it. I should _be_ there." 

"We'll get there." 

"And she's due in like two weeks," he says as if Scott never said anything at all. "But your mom says the baby's ready. _Ready_ ready. So what if I'm missing something?" 

"Stiles, she was fine an hour ago," Allison reminds him from the backseat. It offers little comfort when she squeezes his shoulder. "I'm sure they're both still fine now." 

"And first babies take 12 hours on average," Lydia adds from where she sits beside Allison. "You won't miss it." 

Stiles clenches his jaw as he uses the rearview mirror to send her a glare. "Lydia, who even invited you?" Allison and Lydia were sitting together on the front porch when he pulled back into the driveway that morning, Allsion having religiously watched the house for any signs of Malia and Lydia having turned up after Derek turned out to be missing, too. Then, he was too high on the sound of Malia's voice after she had called from Derek's phone on the short drive between the station and home to realize a decision had been made that the girls were coming with, too. But he _definitely_ noticed when Lydia had gone for the car seat, begging her to _just leave it there_ because she had _no freaking idea how long it took to get that in there_. He also noticed when she lifted the car seat clear off the seat and the belt he _thought_ was holding the base in place stayed buckled around absolutely nothing. A few hours into the drive, he hasn't warmed up any more to the idea of having her company. 

"Malia's pack. Pack sticks together," the redhead responds, her mouth a tight line to match his own frustration. "Plus, someone needs to make sure you don't kill Derek." 

In the rearview mirror, he rolls his eyes in response. "I'm not going to _kill_ Derek." Three pairs of eyes stare back at him. Even Scott's eyebrow is raised in a question of disbelief. Stiles sighs in response. "Okay, I'm not going to do anything to Derek he can't heal from." 

Scott shoots him a look that he chooses to ignore. Lydia opens her mouth to say something else, but her phone beeps with an incoming text message at the same time Stiles's vibrates against the dashboard. He tries to reach for it without taking his eyes off the road for more than half second intervals, but Scott is faster, grabbing the phone before Stiles's hand ever makes content. "Well, Derek is currently stopping _again_ so your girlfriend can stretch _again_ ," Lydia informs him from the backseat while Scott is still reading the text. 

"Hey, my girlfriend is nine months pregnant. So maybe we can cut her a little slack," Stiles bites back, trying to ignore the way that Derek's including him in updates now is starting to make him rethink the right hook he has planned for Derek's jawline. 

"And Derek didn't know she was sneaking off, so maybe we should do the same for him." 

"Lydia," Stiles says firmly as he pounds his open palm once against the steering wheel. "When someone leaves _the freaking state_ with the two most important things in your life, we'll talk." 

Scott's hand is suddenly on his knee again, and it's only then that Stiles realizes he's starting to shake. On some level, he recognizes that his anger stems from a pent up frustration he knows he can't take out on Malia mixed with the frustration he feels towards himself for having thought he could keep any of this news about her mom a secret. On every other level, he's way too stubborn to let that stop him from lashing out at Lydia. 

Lydia's eyes drift towards the window, and Stiles lets his drop from the rearview mirror, jaw still clenched tight as his hands continue to wring the steering wheel. He's just starting to feel a little victorious with his ability to get in the last line when Lydia speaks up again, her voice calmer and more even than it was a few minutes ago. 

"Derek bought the loft because there are no doors." 

Stiles steals a shared look with Scott when Lydia stops there, like it's obvious how doors connect to his assisting Malia in her escape. When he turns his attention back to the road, Lydia's looked away from the window in order to meet his gaze in the mirror. "He listened to his parents burn to death behind a locked door," she explains. "He can't sleep with the door closed when we go to the lake house. And he has nightmares sometimes. They wake him up in the middle of the night." 

Stiles's eyes drop back down to the road as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. The unspoken knowledge that Derek wouldn't want them to know any of this hangs heavy around all of them. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles thinks he might catch Allison slide her hand into Lydia's in the backseat, but he's a little distracted trying to combat the feeling that he's just seen Derek Hale naked, overexposed in ways he probably wouldn't want to be. 

"What I mean is Derek's already lost the most important people in his life," Lydia explains after another thirty seconds of weighted silence. "He lost both of his parents to the fire. He has one sister who was murdered and another sister who can't stand to be in Beacon Hills. And we helped lock his uncle away." Stiles is about to object when Lydia holds up a hand to stop him. "Even if he does deserve to be locked up. But Malia is family, and the baby too.” 

“Malia’s not -,” he says quickly, but he cuts himself off before Scott even shoots him another look. Because Lydia's right. It's not something he's going to be admitting out loud any time soon, but Derek is really the only biological link Malia chooses to acknowledge, outside this search for her mother. Like it or not, he's managed to create a pretty permanent connection between himself and the Hale family. And family took on a new significance for him this morning, so now he's just left feeling like a Grade A asshole as he sighs and starts over. "A phone call would've been nice, okay? Or a text? Just a 'Hey, your girlfriend showed up and I'm taking her out of the state. Be back tomorrow.'" 

Lydia silently weighs her choice of words for several long seconds before she speaks up from the backseat. "He was just trying to help her." 

"He's a good guy," Allison echoes. 

A muscle in Stiles's jaw ticks. It's getting real damn hard to hate the guy when the Derek Hale Fan Club has filled his backseat. "Well, he could afford to help a little less," he says. 

"I know," Lydia agrees, and Stiles has to do a doubletake in the rearview mirror to make sure he heard what he thought he just heard. "He wanted you and Malia to move into his building, rent free," she explains after Stiles's not-so-subtle scoff gives away his disbelief. "But I told him you would hate that." 

His fingers settle into a rhythm against the steering wheel again, this time out of frustration. "We're having a _baby_. That doesn't make us some freaking charity case." 

"That's what I told him. I mean, I told him that's what you would say. Plus, I told him I thought you might want to have your dad around." 

Stiles shifts uncomfortably in the driver's seat, and he carefully avoids any and all eye contact in the rearview mirror now. He's not exactly a fan of knowing he's been a topic of conversation on date nights. Lydia also isn't contributing to his rendition of _Derek Hale, Asshole_ right now. It's instinctive to bring up the fact that Derek also put her swing together without an invitation, or that he took Malia to see Peter, too, without letting anyone else know. Instead, he finds himself sighing as he white-knuckles the wheel again. "He offered to help with the baby's shifting, too," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else in the car. 

"He told me," Lydia adds quietly. "He thinks you'll be really good at this." 

Stiles chooses to ignore again that he's a favorite topic for discussion for the two of them. "Yeah, he told me that too. But that was before I screwed this up." 

"Stiles, man, you didn't screw up," Scott speaks up beside him. Stiles steals a quick glance in his direction, finding his expression to be as sincere as his words. "You just wanted to be sure before you told her. You didn't want to hurt her." 

Lydia gives his shoulder a squeeze. "You're gonna get there. She'll be fine till then." 

For the rest of the ride, he doesn't remain convinced that he's not missing out on life-changing moments that he should be with her for, but at least his foot stops tapping. 

\-----

Ten hours turns out to be long enough for Lydia to inform them that Derek _freaking_ Hale also has a college degree in architecture that he's never actually put to use. It's long enough for Scott to run out of music on his phone. It's long enough for Allison to attempt to _almost_ convince Stiles that pup's arrival won't be as horrific as he's making it out to be. It's also just long enough for Stiles to forget to be angry with Malia. Or maybe it's just that his relief wins out when they pull up behind Derek's Toyota at a cemetery in the middle of Nowhere, Arizona. 

Stiles fumbles with his belt in his rush to just be out of the Jeep, and then fumbles with the lock he's handled a million times before now. Derek is stationed outside his own SUV, leaning against it like he's been there for a while, and while there's a few choice lines Stiles has been saving for this moment - each punctuated with a punch he will most likely live to regret - he forgets those, too, in favor of being with Malia. Instead, Derek just gives a nod in her direction, and Stiles nods back. Eventually, he'll attempt to thank him for watching out for Malia, but now is not that time as he leaves Derek with the rest of the pack instead, half jogging the few yards to where Malia is. 

She's sitting in the grass in front of one of the many headstones, legs crossed beneath her and her hair up in a messy ponytail he could've described perfectly that morning. And even though all he wants to do is pull her into his arms and make her promise to never take off like this again, he freezes a good ten feet behind her and silently curses the ghost of Scott's voice that insists _You know, she's gonna find out eventually_. That night in his room, with the obituary he had stumbled across by pure accident still open on his computer, he had argued that just because the name matched an alias they knew Malia's mother had used and the woman in the picture had Malia's eyes, it didn't mean it _was_ her mother. He’d never prepared for this moment when he had to look his desperate girlfriend in the eye and try to put into words how sorry he was that he failed to keep this promise to find her mom. Instead, he lied and he kept secrets, and then he made her feel like her only option was to take off on her own before the sun was even up. Now, he doesn't know if she even wants to see him there. 

He's cautious as he takes the spot beside her, close enough that he can reach out and touch her if she doesn't go straight for his throat, but not quite close enough for his knee to brush against her own as he folds his legs beneath him to mirror hers. It's a long, agonizing, life-questioning kind of silent thirty seconds that pass before he finally builds up the courage to start with a gentle, "Hey." 

Another stress filled thirty seconds pass before she turns her head to finally look at him. "Hey." 

Stiles finally remembers to breathe. There's a sadness staring back at him that he hasn't seen in a long time - he hoped to never see it again - but at least she's talking to him. At least she hasn't walked away or growled or threatened him the bodily harm he's fully aware he deserves at this point. Beyond that obvious sadness, though, he has no idea what she's thinking. Hell, since he sat down next to her, he forgot every word of his carefully planned apology because it just feels _so good_ to see her. So for the first time today, he relinquishes control and just waits for her to take the lead. 

"I was going to come back," she says when she finally speaks in perfect matter-of-fact Malia fashion. It brings a sad smile to his face. 

"I know." 

She's silent for a while longer then before she speaks again, her voice faltering just slightly. "My mom’s dead." 

"I know." 

Automatically, he reaches for her, then stops halfway to her shoulder. In the past few weeks, the on-again/off-again relationship with cramps that Malia's been tangled up in has been a not-so-subtle reminder of just how much she hates feeling vulnerable. His girlfriend has settled into her human existence enough to have a favorite tv show and catch more of his pop culture references than Scott, but she still chooses flight when she's been stripped of her defenses. So he brings his hand back to his lap as he tries to decide if it's better to start with that apology he's starting to remember or go back to the very beginning, building up to this morning when he finally received confirmation from Braeden, which really means he's only kept a secret for the past 12 hours. 

In the end, she makes the decision for him when she twists around to face him, hands cradling her swollen middle like maybe that's what's holding her together now. "I don't know what to do now," Malia says before he can say anything else, eyes wide and trained on him. "She was the only person who knew what it's like to have a pup, and now - Now, Pup's gonna come and I'm gonna have to be her mom because I'm the only mom she has and I don't know what to do." 

Her words run together in a rush that leaves her breathless, which is more common now that the baby has begun to invade her lung space. She ends with a shaky breath, the kind that he can feel rattle in his own chest under the weight of tears she won't let herself shed, and he forgets to worry about doing the wrong thing. "It's okay, Mal," he says as he scoots himself closer to her, lacking all hesitation this time as he gently cups her cheek with his palm. "It's okay. You don't have to have it all figured out now." 

"But I don't know how to do _any_ of this," she insists, frustrated tears appearing in the corners of her eyes. 

"Neither do I." Stiles gives a small shrug of his shoulders as his free hand finds its way to the side of her bump. The baby stirs beneath his hand almost immediately, and he has to fight against an overwhelming feeling of relief that they're _both_ safe and sound to finish talking. "Her clothes look really confusing with all those zippers and snaps, and I have no idea how to change a diaper, and my dad totally put together that entire crib, if we're being honest." 

Malia makes a sound that he's pretty sure is halfway to a laugh, and that becomes the only encouragement he needs to continue. "And spoiler alert: her car seat is sitting in the garage right now. Turns out, it still wasn't in there right." This time, there's no denying that's a laugh. He gives her a smile in response as he reaches up to tuck her hair back behind her ear from where it's falling in her face. "But Mal," he says when he starts again, voice significantly more sober, "You're doing it already. You worry about her, and you know when something's not right with her. You even know how she's _feeling_ sometimes. And you love her so much. You're already her mom." 

She looks less than convinced as she looks away from him to look down at the swell of her middle, her hands still cradling her bump. This is how he wishes he could see herself - the way her gaze immediately softens, hands pressed protectively over their baby. There's fear there, too, and he could probably scent her worry if he was part wolf like the majority of the pack, but she looks so natural. It's the way she looks in the middle of the night, too, when he wakes up to find her already sitting up, lips moving in an incoherent whisper as she ignores the twisting pain inside her to calm the pup's anxiety. Or the way she looked when she sat with Melissa for an hour the weekend before, her face a mask of concentration as she attempted to learn how to swaddle - and then for the two hours she practiced on her own after that. It was like her determination to find her mother fueled her determination to learn how to _become_ one herself, but she was too distracted by the former to realize she had already achieved the latter. 

They're all sentiments he can't accurately put into words, though. He still owes her an apology, too, for keeping the limited knowledge he had about her mother a secret. And they still need to talk about the way she left with no note and no way to contact her, how it's different now that they're having a baby who has no choice but to go along with her. But those conversations can wait as he watches her instead, waiting for her to say something. 

Malia lifts her head a few seconds later to look back up at him. "But what if I'm just like them?" she asks. "What if I'm just like my parents?" 

His heart breaks for her for the fiftieth time that day."You're not. You're nothing like them." 

"I killed my family, Stiles," she argues, and he just barely catches the way her bottom lip trembles. "Peter's in Eichen House because of what he did, and my mom-" 

"Your mom left you with the Tates. Because she knew that was best for you." It's something Stiles fully believes, the one redeeming quality he's given to this idea of her mother in the months he's spent trying to track her down. She was also responsible for more destruction than Stiles thought a single supernatural being could be responsible for, and maybe someday, he'll let her see the file on his computer filled with information he found with Braeden's help. For now, though, she deserves to find comfort in this more idealistic version of her mother. 

Unfortunately for him, that plan seems to backfire when her gaze falls to her lap once again. He finds himself biting his lip as he waits for her to say something else. Normally, his girlfriend is an open book when it comes to human feelings, but he can't read her quickly changing emotions today to save his life. When she finally does look back at him, though, there's a sense of fear there that he wasn't expecting. "What if that's what's best for Pup, too?" 

Stiles's confusion shows as his brows furrow together. "Giving her up?" Malia nods, and his eyes immediately grow wider. "No way. There's no way that's better for her, Mal," he says, trying to ignore the tight knot that's formed in the pit of his stomach at just the thought of leaving their daughter with someone else. "She's ours. No one can take her, remember?" 

"But what if that's what she needs?" 

"She needs _us_ ," he says as his free hand returns to her bump. "She needs you. You're her anchor. You're her _mom_." 

"What if I can't figure this out?" 

"You will. We both will. I'm gonna be right here, I promise." He plans to remind her that he has no idea what he's doing - that he failed miserably at that whole swaddle thing, and he still sometimes feels like he's on the verge of a massive panic attack when someone mentions how close they are to "The Big Day." He worries about letting the baby down and loving her enough and making her feel safe the first time she shifts. Sometimes, he just worries about dropping her. But he catches sight of the tears welling in the corners of Malia's eyes and he holds out his arms instead. 

"C'mere." The words are only half out of his mouth by the time she's folding herself into him, as close as she can possibly be with the pup between them. There's a lump in the back of his throat as he does what he's wanted to do for the past ten hours and finally holds her. Her fingers curl into the back of his shirt, he catches the scent of her shampoo when he presses his lips to the crown of her head, and the pup kicks as if they need a reminder that she's there. And it all just feels _right_. "God, Mal. I was so worried," he half mumbles against her hair. 

"I just wanted to find her," she says without lifting her cheek from his shoulder, and his heart breaks for the 51st time. 

"I know." 

"I thought she would be here." 

"I know." 

He has time to press three more kisses to the top of her head before she finally lifts it and pulls back far enough to meet his eye. "Do you really think I can do this?" 

He gently cups her chin. "You're gonna be incredible." 

She presses her lips to his before he has the chance to move forward. There's a sadness there as she searches his mouth for something he can't give her, but there's also a sense of determination , one that she's carried with her for as long as he's known her. She's more resilient than anyone else he's ever met, stronger than he'll ever be. He already knows they'll be just fine. 

\----

It shouldn't surprise him when the contractions start just shy of three hours into the trip home. There's seven hours between them and Beacon Hills, several hundred miles until they cross the state line, and Malia is suddenly _too_ quiet every ten minutes. 

Up until then, the return trip has been a kind of peaceful he's welcoming with wide open arms. Derek's mom car has plenty of room for Lydia, Scott, and Allison, and Stiles plans to thank Scott profusely for thinking to give him this time alone in the Jeep with just Malia. It's easier to tell her the whole story that way, starting with the night he stumbled across the obituary and ending with the email from Braeden he was furiously reading just about the time Derek was navigating rush hour traffic moving out of the city. He also fumbles through twelve apologies in just the first twenty minutes, which at least makes it possible to look at her without being swallowed up by that neverending guilty feeling. And eventually, it's just quiet, save for the Starship cassette tape she popped in at some point. She rolls down the window, he twines his finger with hers, and he gets comfortable enough to think that word - _peaceful_. 

That was probably his first mistake. 

Okay, that was probably his first mistake since catching up to her again. 

Because it's only shortly after he thinks all is right with his little world that she pulls her hand away and brings it instead to rest against the pup bump. She does it casually enough that he'd buy that she was trying to lead the baby away from her rib cage if it weren't for the way she starts to shift in her seat at regular intervals. Her clothes rustle each time, pulling his attention to the way that she's started to angle her body away from him and towards the door. Still, he's too caught up in his own bliss, and he's half joking when he moves his own hand to her bump and says, "Everyone okay over there?" He's not sure exactly what he's expecting, but it's definitely not the way everything beneath his hand is suddenly rock hard while she shifts uncomfortably again. When the same thing happens every ten minutes for the next half hour, the hotel rooms Lydia found for the night no longer seem like the revolutionary idea they thought it was when they were piling back into cars for the second road trip that day. So he calls Scott, trying to sound nothing but calm as he tells him Derek needs to pull over at the next exit so Scott can switch cars and be Stiles's backup driver when he reaches his limit sometime in the next eight hours. 

Driving straight through sounds like a good idea, at least, until Hour Four when Scott is behind the wheel and Stiles is trying to keep his near-panic-attack-level freak out as internal as possible in the backseat. But she's started making these soft little gasps every seven minutes, according to the timer on his phone, and they're on the verge of leaving civilization behind for the next hundred miles. And Stiles has very strong feelings about the idea of Pup's birth certificate reading that she was born in the middle of a desert. 

And _that's_ how he finds himself in a hospital in the middle of some small town in Arizona in the middle of the night instead. 

The irony is that Stiles really meant it when he told her they just needed someone to reassure them it wasn't Go Time when he was trying to persuade her to get out of the Jeep. And now, he's letting a strange nurse lead him to the room they put Malia in to change into a gown and be hooked up to a monitor while he was calling his dad, telling him he might want to start driving now if he wants to be there when his granddaughter is born. He's actually staying _relatively_ calm right up until the point when the nurse motions towards the next door. "She's right in there, Daddy." 

And _that's_ when he's pretty sure all of the blood drains from his face. 

His heart pounds against his ribcage as he mumbles his thanks, and then pretends like it's not about to _break_ his ribcage as he lets himself in. It doesn't help that she looks out of place in that hospital bed, in the promised white and blue hospital gown with the outline of the monitor just visible beneath. Judging from the amount of fear in her eyes, too, she feels a little caged. "Okay, my dad and Melissa are on their way," he says in an attempt to keep ignoring the panic attack that's seriously starting to brew. "Melissa's going to figure out what kind of privileges she has once she gets here. Everyone else is in the waiting room." 

"They should go home." Her short, clipped tone doesn't hide the fact that she's probably furious with him right now for nearly dragging her out of the car. It's still not enough to keep him from sitting down on the edge of her bed, though, and he's glad to see she doesn't flinch away. 

"No one's going home. Not if you're having the baby." 

"But I'm not."

"We don't know that yet." 

"I'm _not_." The last word gains an edge as her shoulders suddenly tense and her eyes quickly close, palms pressed to the pup bump. 

"Hey, it's okay, Mal," he says reassuringly as his hand gently grips one of her forearms. "Just try to breathe." 

Malia opens her eyes to shoot him a look; he's willing to bet it's nearly identical to the glare she gave the windshield every time he forgot her desire to not be touched and gently rested a hand on her shoulders back in the Jeep. "We need to _go_ ," she says through gritted teeth without breaking her glare. 

"No way." 

"You said I could do this at home." 

"Yeah," he agrees with the slightest edge of annoyance. "At home, not in _the front seat of my Jeep_." 

"I'm not staying." 

"C'mon, Malia," he says a little more gently, returning his hand to her arm now that she's safely moved past that contraction. "Try to calm down." 

" _You_ calm down," she argues, and he knows she's caught the scent of his immense anxiety or the pounding of his heart or maybe both. It's not like he set out to mask his anxiety; he had just hoped hers was strong enough to cover his own. 

"Trust me, I'm trying." He steals a glance at the door before moving a little closer to her and dropping his voice. "She called me _Daddy_ ," he says with a nod towards the hallway where the nurse had left him. "I'm not - _Shit_ ," he cuts himself off as he realizes his mistake, eyes wide with this latest revelation. He drops his head towards his lap when it suddenly feels too light. "Holy shit, I'm the daddy," he groans somewhere in the vicinity of his knee. 

A second later, he feels her hand between his shoulderblades. "Breathe," she deadpans in a way that's clearly meant to mock him, and he lifts his head just enough to return the glare she gave him a minute ago. 

"I'm _fine_." 

"Well, you smell terrible." 

The weight of her hand disappears from his back, and he sits up, expecting to find her in the middle of a contraction (one that has followed way too closely after the last). Instead, her hand is back in her lap, and she suddenly looks smaller in that bed, like the fight she had back in the Jeep was forgotten in the parking lot. "Hey," he says again as he gives her knee a small squeeze. "It's okay." 

"No it's not," she says. There's a frantic sound to her voice now that makes something pull tight in his own chest. "We're not supposed to be here. We don't even have the car seat. You said they won't let us take her home without the car seat!" 

Before he can stop himself, Stiles laughs. Because this small hospital filled with people they've never met is a far cry from the birth they've spent months planning. Because he's spent the last twenty hours the closest to a nervous breakdown he's been in years, and being here now is just the icing on the cake. Because she'll never believe him, but there's a fair chance she's never looked more adorable than she does now as she starts to panic over the car seat that was left behind in Beacon Hills. "She's our baby. They'll let us take her home. Worst case scenario, we send Scott to go buy another one." He laughs to himself again at the absurdity of this situation, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way she tenses, her expression darkening. "Hey," he says quickly. "I'm not laughing at you. I just think you have more important things to worry about right now." Automatically, his hand moves from her knee to rest against her bump. "Like this cutie." 

"You said her head was too big." 

He bites his tongue to keep from pointing out that it was a comment he made _one time_ , mostly out of concern for how disproportionate she had appeared on the screen. "Well it's been a while since we've seen her," he says instead. "So she's probably cutened up... right?" He tries to picture her as the tiny, living, breathing person he knows on some level that she is instead of the 2D black and white images they've seen up until now. With his eyes and her hair or vice versa, hopefully ten fingers and ten toes, small enough to fit in the tiny sleeper that's been sitting on top of his dresser, just waiting. And suddenly, it dawns on him that they could know whose eyes and mouth and nose she has by the end of the night. "Oh my god," he says, eyes on the swell that still houses the baby for now. "We're gonna see her." 

Beneath his hand, he feels the way her abdomen tightens then before he hears the way she sucks in her breath. He makes a point of not touching her or saying anything, but he lets his hand stay there against her pup bump. When she finally opens her eyes again, he's taken aback to see that there are tears now in the corners of her eyes. "Stiles, I don't know what to do." 

"Okay, okay. Do you want me to go get someone? I think this part really just happens on its own," he says, trying to offer some semblance of reassurance. But she just shakes her head. 

"I mean after she's here. I don't know what to do with a baby." 

Her eyes flash bright blue as the words leave her mouth, and Stiles's head whips around to check the door. His track record from today leads him to believe that this would be the moment when the nurse returned to check on Malia and Pup's vitals or the doctor who had had them moved here to monitor Malia's contractions for the next couple hours would come back, and his worst fear would be realized. But the hallway outside the room is empty, void of anyone who would have the power to take either girl away to run tests. So far, he's done a pretty good job of ignoring the gnawing fear that the baby will be born with a tail in front of a room full of strangers and she'll be whisked away to become someone's new science experiment. Now, though, his fear is mostly focused on Malia's ability to keep her emotions in check. 

"Let's talk about something else," he tries instead. Immediately she frowns, so he continues. "We gotta keep you two human. So let's talk about something that's not going to turn you - or her - into Wiley." 

"Like what?" 

"Like... How hot you look in this." He motions towards the hospital gown, and she scrunches up her nose in protest. "How come you don't wear more clothes that are backless like this?"

Malia gives him a look that he's willing to bet would've been accompanied with a snarl at any other time when her eyes looked less sad and scared.

"Not helping?"

She shakes her head as her eyes turn that brilliant blue again. "Stiles -" 

"Okay, what about Pup?" he asks as he cuts her off. He cranes his neck to check the doorway again, and he's a little less relieved to find the door closed and the hallway outside empty. Eventually, someone's going to come back to check on her and the baby, and there's no way of knowing when that might be. He turns his attention back to her with a nod towards the pup as he tries his hardest to ignore his own mounting anxiety. "How's she doing?" 

"She's scared," Malia responds, bottom lip trembling again. "Her heart's racing. I don't know how to make this better." 

Stiles has to fight the urge to groan. So far, he's 0 for two, and his only success has been upsetting her further. He's on his third strike when he gently cups her cheek. "You can't. She's being evicted; I don't think she's supposed to be happy about it. But I think she'll calm down if you calm down." Malia nods as she closes her eyes, shoulders shaking as she takes a deep breath. She takes two more deep breaths before she opens her eyes again, appearing calmer than she was a minute ago, and Stiles can't hide how in awe of her he is. Today hasn't been an easy day for either of them by anyone's standards, but it's been far worse for her. And now, her body is rebelling against her, forcing the baby from her home nearly two weeks before her due date, and Malia's strength is astounding. Some part of him feels suddenly indebted to her, too, so the least he can do is offer her a distraction, especially after the day she's had. 

"Tell me about your mom." He doesn't give the statement much thought before he says it, and she immediately opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off with a shake of his head. "Not the Desert Wolf. Your real mom. Tell me about her." 

"Tell you what?" 

"What do you remember?" There's a mental list of people he's compiled that he wants her to talk to now that her mom was a dead end, like Melissa and her dad whose grief hopefully hasn't robbed him of all the good memories of her childhood. He wants to try to get Cora on the phone, even though she's not a mother as far as he knows, and he's determined to talk to Deaton about pup practices one last time. They've spent all this time exploring the wrong avenue, and he can't give her back that time to look for answers in the right places, but he can try to help her locate the memories that will help. "Like my mom stuck notes in my backpack for when my anxiety was worst. And she memorized _Where the Wild Things Are_ so she could tell the story whenever because it was my favorite book." 

She still looks stoic when he stops talking, but not as sad. "You never talk about your mom," she says. 

"Sometimes, it's hard to remember the good stuff," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. He had strategically left out the number of times his mom had recited the book from a hospital bed, and the way it had become a tool of measurement - if she remembered it in its entirety, it meant the dementia wasn't as bad as the doctors said; if she thought he was still little enough to need the story to fall asleep, it meant it was a bad day. "But I do have good memories of her, and I know you have good memories of your mom, too." 

"She used to sing," she says softly in response, sounding far calmer than she did a few minutes ago. 

"Really?" 

Malia nods. "Mostly Beatles or Fleetwood Mac. She used to sing us to sleep or when we were scared. Like during storms." She's about to say more when she's cut off by another contraction. She squares her shoulders as her chin drops and she closes her eyes. It takes him a second to realize that she's holding herself incredibly still, like maybe that's the solution to making it stop. 

"Hey, Mal... You can't hold your breath like that," he says as he puts his hands on her shoulders, rubbing up and down her arms. "That's how you pass out. You gotta breathe." He takes a deep, exaggerated breath like he's demonstrating, and then another when her shoulders lift and then fall beneath his hands in time with his own. He keeps doing it until he's pretty sure the contraction has passed, and he doesn't feel nearly as ridiculous as he thought he would. She looks more worn out by this latest wave of pain, and even he needs a distraction from it. "Keep going," he encourages her when he thinks she's capable of talking again. "What else about your mom?" 

"She used to take us out of school when the weather was nice." Her hands are back on the pup bump, one hand moving in a slow circle like she might be soothing the baby inside - another moment he wishes he could capture for her. "She'd take us to the beach instead. She loved the beach." 

Two hours later, he's learned that her mom spent afternoons making masterpieces out of chalk on the driveway while Malia made request after request. She'd sleep with Malia under the stars on summer nights when Malia refused to come inside. And she still found ways to hold an injured Malia, even when she was too stoic to let herself cry even as a toddler. Two hours later, her contractions have also stopped, and the doctor returns long enough to check her again and let them know that they can try walking the halls for the next hour or they can go home and wait it out. They both talk over each other to agree to that second option, and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief realizing that there won't be a baby that night. 

Instead, their night is spent in a hotel room after all. And they leave first thing in the morning, taking no more chances of letting Pup come somewhere on the road. But they've survived another hurdle together, one that brings them increasingly closer to the real night when Pup will decide when she's ready. Most importantly, after that, when he tells Malia about what a good mother she'll be to their baby, she stops trying to disagree. And Stiles can't help but feel like maybe, just maybe, they're finally ready. 

\-----

A week later, Malia has a better understanding of who the Desert Wolf was. There's a day or two when their lives are on hold, waiting for her contractions to start again now that they came so close to having the pup there in their arms, but a doctor's appointment confirms that Pup is still _nice and high and in no hurry_. They stop holding their breath long enough for Stiles to sit down with her and let her look through everything he had collected with Scott and Braeden's help over the past few months. Along with the obituary under one of her mother's aliases, there were pictures of some of the destruction her mother had been responsible for, a log of all of the places Braeden and her contacts knew her mother had been in since Malia's birth, and legal documents detailing Malia's adoption a few months after her birth. But there's no connection to the woman pictured in the obituary, no feeling of regret when she reads through the log and sees just how many times their paths almost crossed again. In the end, it's just a file on his computer that she tells Stiles to delete. 

Part of her had wanted to know where she came from, but a more desperate part of Malia had wanted someone to tell her how to be a mother to a little girl when she had missed out on so much of her own childhood, and Stiles still finds a way to give her that, too. Melissa is there one afternoon with Scott's baby book, mostly empty, she explains, because she didn't really know what she was doing either, and figuring out how to sooth him when his molars came in was more important than documenting the date. When they lay awake at night, nearly a foot apart now that she's suddenly always _hot_ , Stiles falls into the habit of telling her about what his mom did when he was sick and how she'd hold him tight until he was too focused on the weight of her arms around him to remember the heavy weight on his chest during a panic attack. And they even spend a day with her dad who she doesn't realize she hasn't seen in months until he's staring at her with watery eyes, commenting on how big she's gotten. She can sense Stiles's anxiety the entire time, but he still sits beside her as her dad goes through her baby album and offers the baby blanket Malia herself had slept with as a baby. 

Eventually, her fears stop keeping her up at night, which is good because Stiles returns from Arizona with the stench of worry rolling off his skin in waves. With her due date six days away, he suddenly thinks every wince when the pup nails her ribs with a strong little foot and every exasperated sigh when she can't get comfortable on her side in the middle of the night is a contraction. And he thinks every time he lets her out of his sight for a full minute, he'll come back to a baby in her arms - his words exactly. 

So she's not _that_ surprised to find his dad at the kitchen table, phone laying in front of him, one morning after she's ignored no less than six of Stiles's text messages. 

Normally, Malia's not in the business of ignoring her boyfriend's messages, but she woke up that morning to find he was already up and dressed, sitting down on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes as he explained that Liam and Mason had found something in the woods, so he and Scott were heading there now. She was annoyed enough by the way he stopped her with his hands on her shoulders when she went to get up, but it was the way he _laughed_ at the idea of her coming with them that made her decide to let him go without an answer to his texts for a while. 45 minutes after he tried to explain to her that it _just wasn't safe_ for her and Pup when the _something_ in the woods pointed towards the existence of an unfamiliar wolf, she's still annoyed enough to not quite feel like letting him know she's okay. 

But now, his dad is looking at her expectantly, and she finds herself standing in the doorway, unsure about crossing the threshold right now. 

"My son has become relentless," he says with a nod towards his phone in way of a greeting. "So I have to ask: you feel okay?" 

Malia nods without hesitation because she's always liked Stiles's dad, and he wasn't the one who told her she was _benched until you're no longer carrying around a full-sized pup_. "But don't tell him that," she adds, one corner of her mouth turning up into something like a smirk. "He's the one who made me stay here." 

His dad laughs. "This," he says as he points towards her, waving his index finger, "is why I like having you around, Malia. He needs someone like you." He gets up from the table, cup in hand, and crosses the room to where the coffee maker sits beside the sink. "Coffee?" he asks as he holds up the pot. She nods, feeling grateful for the fact that Stiles is gone for the first time that morning because he vetoed coffee months ago. By the time his dad has returned to the table, she's slid into the chair adjacent to him, legs crossed beneath her. She immediately reaches for the mug he sets in front of her, but she stops halfway to her mouth when she catches the way he picks up his phone out of the corner of her eye. "But as neurotic as he can be, I've been there before, so how are we really feeling?" 

"Fine." 

"So no pup action?" Malia looks up, startled by the phrase she's only heard Stiles use up until now, and his dad waves his phone again. "He's sent me the equivalent of a novel so far." 

"No pup action," she agrees with a serious nod. A comfortable silence settles between them as he responds to Stiles and then sets the phone back facedown on the table. By the time he's lifting his mug again, though, her resolve to let Stiles suffer in her silence is starting to wain. Mostly because she's been stuck on the sidelines of this adventure for all of an hour, and she already hates it. In the end, her desire to at least know what's happening in the middle of the action wins out as she nods towards his phone. "Is everything okay with Stiles?" 

His dad sighs, and she can just barely sense layer upon layer of a tired feeling he's been carrying around for years. "Sounds like it," he says as he scrolls back through a few messages before looking back over at her and raising an eyebrow, like it's still hard for him to believe the words he's saying. " _Apparently_ , there was another alpha in the woods, but there's no signs of any wolves now. Scott thinks someone was just passing through." He sets his phone back down before leaning back in his chair with another, slightly exasperated sigh. " I wouldn't want to be Liam right now, though. From the texts he's sent, I think it's a safe bet Stiles has threatened him bodily harm at this point." 

Malia gives a small shrug of her shoulders. "Liam was the one who called this morning," she says, as if this is enough to excuse whatever threats Stiles has made. 

"Ah." His dad nods again as they fall back into that same silence. One of her hands falls away from her mug to rest against her swollen middle when the pup starts to feel the effects of the caffeine while his dad studies the surface of the table. He seems less tired when he eventually lifts his head. "You know," he says as he studies her with that same careful consideration. "It's nice to do this at the kitchen table for once." 

Malia's brows meet in the middle of her forehead as she tries to figure out why this is nicer than the other times they've been the first ones up in the morning. Stiles has always been a deep sleeper, and the pup has made her sleep even less. But his dad has also taken on extra shifts lately so he can stay home for a few days after the pup is born, and Malia is too observant to not notice that Melissa's scent lingers in the house now - especially on the mornings when all of Melissa lingers at the kitchen table in the seat where Malia is now. But it's not until Stiles's dad nods towards the front door that she understands. "I think this is the first time we haven't been on the front porch." 

"I think it is, too," she agrees. Because four years ago, she was in the habit of sneaking out Stiles's window before the sun was up so there was no trace of her in Stiles’s room when his dad walked past on his way out the door. Some mornings, she would go back home to sleep those last few minutes before school in her own bed, but more mornings, she would sit on the front porch, waiting until Stiles woke up and let her in through the front door. The Sheriff was the one to offer her her first taste of coffee one morning when he appeared on the porch with two mugs in hand. She had immediately pulled away, feeling threatened by the knowledge that Stiles had told her his father couldn't know she was sleeping over most nights. But his dad had stayed a safe distance away, holding out the second mug as a peace offering. _My son is an idiot for thinking he could sneak a girl in and out when he lives with a **cop**_ he had told her as he waited for her to take the mug from him. _You might be waiting a while for him to wake up, though, so I thought you might like this_. 

It became their morning ritual for a while - Malia still sneaking out the window and the Sheriff offering her coffee on the porch while he let Stiles continue to think he was getting away with something for a while longer. Eventually, he caught her in his bed - _mostly_ decent - on his way out the door for an emergency at work, and the sneaking around stopped. A month later, he offered her the guest bedroom, and their mornings spent together on the porch stopped altogether. 

"It's nice," she says sincerely, despite her desire to be in the woods with the boys. 

"It is. It's been nice having you here, Malia. And it's going to be nice to have my granddaughter here," he adds with a nod towards the pup bump. Instinctively, Malia moves her hand a little higher and then feels another tap against her palm as some part of the baby follows her across the bump. "I'm sure you know I wasn't the happiest at first, but I'm proud of you guys. She's lucky to have you." 

"Thank you," Malia says quietly, not sure what else to say. This is one of those human moments she feels like she's still not entirely prepared for, but his dad seems satisfied with her response as he nods. 

"I mean it." His phone vibrates against the table, and the noise makes her jump. Both of their eyes watch as the phone slides across the table twice with the force of two more messages. Stiles's dad now wears an expression that's bordering on a grimace as he looks back up at her. "And I want you to know that my son means well. I mean, with the texts and the calls and the questions. He just - he worries," he says, and Malia is already nodding in agreement. "He comes by it honestly, too. But he only worries like that because he cares so much. About you, and about that baby." 

"I know." 

"And he's lost a lot, you know," he says in thoughtful consideration, almost like he's thinking through these things for the first time as he speaks them aloud. "I think he's always afraid of losing more. So sometimes, he does this." He gives another nod towards his phone, even though he hasn't checked the phone yet to confirm that it really is Stiles. 

"I don't mind," she says and then reconsiders because she can hear the way her own heart speeds up just slightly under the weight of that white lie. "I'm trying to be patient." 

"And I'm sure he appreciates that. Like I said, Malia, he needs someone like you. And, you know..." He stops for a second as his hand rubs nervously at the back of his neck, making him look like Stiles did that morning when he pointed out that _I love you, but getting in and out of the Jeep has become an Olympic Event for you_. "If you ever need anything," he finishes another second later before leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table again. He studies her long enough for Malia to feel her face grow warm before he finally reaches over and rests a hand on her wrist. "You're family now. I know you've lived here for a while, but you're a part of our family. And us Stilinskis, we stick together." 

There's a physical reaction to that word _family_ , and before she can even process what it means, Malia has very nearly thrown herself into his arms. His body grows rigid in surprise at first, but he quickly relaxes, returning the hug. She knows that Stiles's dad knows about their failed trip to find her mother. He knows about Peter and his history of manipulation and how little of the Hale family is still left in Beacon Hills. And more recently, when they were making plans to sit down with the father who had raised her before the accident, Stiles had told her that the Sheriff had paid said father a visit after their dinner together, making it clear that both she and Stiles deserved to be treated with more respect than they had been shown. She's just started to get used to this idea of a little family with Stiles and the pup, but this is the first time she's heard his dad use that word in regards to her. And after being disappointed so many times, it feels _nice_ to be there in his arms as his hand slowly rubs her back. 

He doesn't pull away until his phone vibrates against the table, and they both turn their heads in the direction of the noise. "What do you think, Malia?" he asks as he leans back in his own chair, his eyes smiling, making him look even more like Stiles. "Should we text him back?" 

She opens her mouth to tell his dad that Stiles had told her she wasn't _up to exploration speed_ , but then thinks better of it and nods. "He's probably driving Scott crazy." 

"He's driving all of us crazy," she hears him say under his breath as he picks his phone up again. He shoots her a glance out of the corner of his eye, making eye contact before looking very pointedly at her bump. "Friday, right?" 

"Or sooner." 

"Let's all hope for sooner for our sanity." He turns his attention back to his phone, narrowing his eyes as he reads this newest message. "I'm assuming there's been no _pup action_." 

Malia shakes her head. "Just kicking." 

"She's a fan of the coffee, huh?" he asks as he puts his phone back down. 

Instinctively, her hand moves to the top of her bump, just below her ribs where the pup's feet have been moving continuously. "Do you want to feel?" she asks. 

"Of course," he agrees with a laugh and a quick nod. Malia pulls her own hand away and indicates the place where the baby is still moving, then uses her hand to reposition his a little higher when he brings it to rest against her bump. And then she watches as his eyes light up and his affection for the pup takes over his scent. From the time the pup's movements became near constant, Malia hasn't understood the way the rest of the world is so fascinated with feeling her - right down to strangers in checkout lines who almost always receive a growl in return if Stiles isn't there to stop her first. But even Stiles still gets excited when she begins to move in response to his voice or pushes against his hand, and he was the one who insisted the whole pack see what he so affectionately named her _little alien thing_ , when he could literally see her move beneath Malia's skin or make out the outline of a perfect little foot. It's worth it to see his dad this excited, too. 

"She's strong," he says after a minute of her constant kicking. 

"And _big_." 

He laughs again. "Well, she'll be here before you know it." His hand lingers there for a second or two before the pup grows still, and he settles back into his chair. "Now about that tail situation..." 

By the time Stiles returns twenty minutes later, too busy ranting about Liam and his inability to know what a _true_ emergency is to comment on her ignoring his texts, she's forgotten to still be frustrated he left her behind this time. 

She's too busy enjoying this time with her family. 

\-----

"We do _not_ have to do this," Stiles says as he puts the Jeep into park but doesn't take the key out of the ignition just yet. He lost count after he told her this for the fiftieth time that morning, and he's starting to feel like the world's most broken record. Judging from the glare Malia's sending him from the passenger's seat, he's not the only one feeling that way as he throws his hands up in a show of surrender. "I'm just saying. Your due date is in three days. Melissa said it'd be good to take it easy.” 

"Melissa said to rest _if_ I was tired," Malia argues as she unbuckles her seatbelt and twists to face him. "But I'm not tired." 

"What if _I'm_ tired?" He motions towards himself with a wave of his hands before one of his hands settles over his slightly racing heart. Really, he was doing pretty okay with the idea of Pup being there in three days, right up until two nights ago when she woke him out of a dead sleep, and he had Melissa's number dialed before he realized that a) Melissa was sleeping down the hall and b) Malia wasn't actually in labor. Instead, his newly insomnia-prone girlfriend had been lying awake, making big plans to visit _freaking_ Peter Hale. 

To be honest, Stiles feels a little too sleep deprived now to remember what made him cave after nearly 24 hours of trying to talk her out of it. Now, they're here in front of Eichen House, and his stubborn girlfriend isn't wavering. 

"Then stay here and sleep." She starts to turn towards the door to get out, but she stops short with a wince as her hand flies to her side. Stiles winces in sympathy. 

"She get your bladder again?" 

"No. My ribs," she says as she rubs the sore spot on her side. 

He moves his hand to rub that same spot for a few seconds before moving his hand to the front of her bump. "What about those contractions." 

"Stiles. They stopped an _hour_ ago." 

"Which is exactly why being cooped up in the car was a bad idea," he says as he hits his palm against the wheel for emphasis. Really, it's been weeks of a whole lot of nothing since that night spent in the maternity ward of that hospital in Arizona. The doctor likes to remind them constantly that Pup is currently nowhere near the exit, Melissa's new mantra is that _first babies are usually late_ , and the three barely there contractions she had that morning are the most action they've seen in over a _week_. Needless to say, Stiles is getting ready to up his Adderall intake. "You're supposed to be walking to get her movin' in the right direction." 

"Perfect," she says as she twists away from him for real this time. "I'm gonna go walk the halls." 

"Oh, yeah, _perfect_ ," he agrees with a sarcastic scoff. "Maybe they'll name a wing after her if you give birth in there." 

He just barely catches her sigh as she shoots him a look over her shoulder. "Bye, Stiles." 

"Hey, what about sex?" he calls after her as she opens the door and begins to take her sweet, sweet time getting out, thanks to her new center of gravity. "Sex could make her come too." 

Malia waits until she's out of the car before turning back around to face him. "Thanks, but I'll walk," she tells him with a smug smile before closing the door. And he curses under his breath because he already knows he's about to follow her in there. 

A minute later, he's jogging up the walkway to press the call button before her, at least leading the way into this building he always makes the mistake of thinking he'll never have a reason to enter again. The last time he was here, it was to stand in front of the same man and watch him _laugh_ at him while he withheld vital information. So while he understands why she feels she _needs_ to be back here again, he'd rather be anywhere but. 

"I was gonna rock your world," he says as he waits for someone to buzz them in. She wears that same smug smile as she pats his chest. 

"You can do that later." 

"You're assuming there will be a later." 

There's a buzz just behind his shoulder and the gate clicks before swinging open, but he's momentarily distracted when Malia leans in, kissing him in the way he really should have kissed her back in the car to convince her to go back home. Hell, he's too caught up in the familiar taste of her mouth and the warmth that radiates beneath his hands on her lower back to think about her end goal until she's pulling away and heading toward the gate, glancing over her shoulder only to say, "There will be a later." 

Stiles groans as he jogs again to catch up with her and lace his fingers through hers. Because yeah, there will be a later, especially when it'll be a welcome distraction from _this_. It's the middle of the day, but Eichen House still looms before them, looking nice and foreboding. It doesn't help that he could play the role of attendant-turned-concierge at the desk at this point. He's taking his keys and his wallet out of his pockets before he's even asked, and he's lying through gritted teeth when Malia asks about his phone and he tells her it's in the Jeep (They're three days away from D-Day in an asylum; _no one_ is taking his phone from his pocket). He also knows the way to the supernatural wing well enough to give tours to other unwilling victims, but the attendant still insists on leading them all the way up to Peter's cell. 

It looks identical to the last time Stiles was there, but it feels like that was another lifetime twice removed now. He had shown up here with Scott, scared shitless. And for once, it wasn't because he didn't trust the shatterproof label on the thin sheet of glass separating him from Peter Hale. The baby had just been this _thing_ then, taking root inside of her and robbing her of control. He had been just desperate enough to come to this sworn pack enemy for help, and when Peter had been his usual apathetic self instead, Stiles had nearly lost it just outside the gate. But he threw himself into an investigation of his own until he finally had answers. He witnessed her victory when she finally found an anchor for their pup. He painted a nursery and stopped having panic attacks. And this morning, he laid next to Malia in bed while he traced the outline of what he still swears was an elbow and made a list with her of all the things they would be willing to try to give the baby a little nudge in the right direction. So yeah, he's a little cocky when they find Peter right where they left him. 

It doesn't mean he doesn't still want to wring Peter's neck when he leers at them with a cocky grin of his own. 

"Well if it isn't the happy little family?" he says as he stops just an inch or two from the glass. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" 

Stiles hooks an arm around Malia's waist and pulls her closer as he squares his jaw. He had promised her before they left that morning that he would let her talk to him in exchange for her promise that they get the hell out of there if his only aim was to upset her. But promising to hold his tongue was much easier when Peter wasn't right there before him. 

"We want to talk," Malia says, displaying a level of calm Stiles envies. Part of him expects her to push his arm away in a show of independence, and when she doesn't, he knows she's letting him have this for his benefit. 

"Talk?" Peter asks, eyebrows raised. 

"Yeah, talk," Stiles jumps in before he can stop himself. "As in, we talk, and you just listen." 

"Is that anyway to ask for help, Stiles?" He crosses his arms over his chest as he looks between the two of them. His cocky smile somehow grows more smug, and Stiles really feels like it might be therapeutic to raise a fist to that glass just once for old time's sake. "Because I assume that's why you're here," he says with an easy shrug of his shoulders. "You need my help? A few days away from that newborn coyote, still not sure how to handle her... Am I right? McCall never was much of an alpha. I'm sure he's clueless when it comes to a born wolf." 

"We don't need your help," Malia says, and now there's an edge to her voice. "Especially not with her. We have Derek." 

"Ah, my nephew, the traitor." 

"And Scott," Stiles adds as his fingers begin to curl into her hip. 

"You're joking, right?" Peter scoffs. 

Malia chooses to ignore him. "I found my mom." Stiles just catches the way his smile disappears for half a second before Peter restores his standard carefree mask to its normal condition. "You knew," she continues. "You knew this whole time, and you never told us." 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Peter says, but his tone is clipped and his jaw is set and Stiles isn't sure he's ever been more proud of his girl. 

In the wake of their return to Beacon Hills, Malia had wanted to see everything he had collected over the months he had spent trying to track down her mother. For hours, she had gone through the same documents filled with Braeden's notes and reread news articles from nearly every local newspaper in every small town up and down the west coast. But it wasn't until two nights ago when she woke him up to tell him she wanted to come here that she had shown him the part of the Desert Wolf's timeline she came back to over and over again - the part where her path crossed with a pack just days before her death. Braeden had already told him that the belief in the circles she traveled in was that the pack was somehow responsible for the Desert Wolf's death, but the part Malia kept coming back to was the single line that said the alpha had been spotted just outside the Hale's territory the week after that, as if they had come with a message. 

"You knew she died," Malia insists again. "Why wouldn't you tell us that?" 

For what it's worth, Peter is almost convincing in the role of sympathetic father as his features soften and he presses his hand to his chest. But it still makes Stiles want to slam his head against that glass divider. "Oh, Malia. Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." 

" _Don't_ call me that," she half growls as she finally pulls away from Stiles and takes a step closer to the glass wall. "And don't pretend like you care now." 

"Malia, you don't believe I _don't care_ , do you? Is that what Stiles tells you? Because if I had known -" 

"This isn't about Stiles," she says as she cuts him off. "I trust Stiles; I _don't_ trust you. And I really don't care why you didn't tell me. I just wanted you to know that I found her - _we_ found her. On our own. And I don't need you now. Neither does the baby." She takes a step closer, close enough to press her palms against the glass, and it takes all of Stiles's self control to not reach out and yank her back. "We don't _want_ you in her life." 

All evidence of Peter's grin is gone now as his mouth forms an angry line instead. "Is that really how you're going to talk to your _father_ , Malia?" 

"You're not my father. You're not a part of my family. Stiles, and the pup, and his dad, and the pack - they're my family." She lowers her hands as she takes a tentative step back, and then another. "I just wanted to let you know that I did this without you. I know the truth now, and I did it on my own." Peter doesn't have a chance to say anything else before she turns around to face Stiles instead. After her courageous display, she looks smaller and sadder than he anticipated, and he fights the urge again to pull her into his arms. "C'mon," she says as she starts to move past him. "I want to go." 

Stiles nods as he brings a hand to her lower back, ushering her out. His heart feels heavy with this sudden admiration for her strength, and it aches for her because he still had this hope that she would find just a small piece of the family she was searching for, and he couldn't make that happen. He plans to tell her about how proud he is of her in between repeated promises that they are a family now, and he's going to do his best to never let her down. He just wants to get her away from Peter's heightened sense of hearing first. But Peter can't let her have the last word. 

Stiles catches the way he scoffs when Malia is just about to step into the hall. "You think I care? You can't possibly be that pathetic." 

Malia's shoulders stiffen beneath Stiles's hand, but she doesn't even let herself pause. Stiles doesn't have that kind of self control. 

"Hey," he says gently as he catches her shoulder. Her eyes look sadder than he remembered when she turns around to face him, and he doesn't feel quite as bad for breaking his promise. "Go ahead. I'll be there in a minute." 

Uncertainty crosses her face before she finally nods and slips outside on her own. He has to make this quick because he hates the idea of her out there in the middle of this wing of the asylum by herself, but he needs this for his own sanity. 

"You don't care," Stiles says as he turns around to face Peter again, feeling for the first time the mounting rage that comes with knowing he could've told them _months_ ago that Malia wasn't going to be able to turn to her own mother for advice, but he let her depend on that hope instead because he was bored in his cell or he still resented them for landing him here in the first place. "And you know," he continues as he takes a single step back into the room. "I always knew you were an asshole, but now, I have no idea what the hell is wrong with you." He takes another step closer because his sudden anger is making it hard to stand still. His fisted hand begins to bounce against his thigh, and it takes near superhuman strength to keep himself from raising his voice. "Because Malia is _incredible_. And that baby? She wasn't a part of the plan, but everytime I think about her, I want to give her the whole freaking _world_. And you don't even care. She's your _daughter_ , and all you've ever done is manipulate her. And lie to her. And let her down. So you don't deserve her. You don't get to know either of them." 

Peter's quiet, too quiet in a way that feels eerie, so Stiles doesn't think twice about taking two steps backwards in the direction of the doorway. Feeling guilty for his actions would require having a heart, so Stiles's money is on Peter's having just figured out what this really means. He's a wolf without a pack with grand visions of someday living outside the walls of a cell, and Stiles and Malia are members of the only currently existing pack in Beacon Hills. What Peter really does care about is himself, and he's succeeded in royally screwing himself over this time. 

Stiles is just about to leave when he stops a second time in the doorway, feeling just a little more cocky now that Peter is aware of their victory. "I know you don't care," he starts with a wave of his hand. "But someday, I'm gonna marry her. I'm not asking for your permission. I'm just letting you know." 

He says it before he's even thought it all the way through, and he's left with this rush of adrenaline that overwhelms his senses and carries him out into the hall without hearing anything Peter might've screamed back in response. Because it's only after he's said it aloud that he realizes somewhere in this mess of shifting fits and panic attacks and pup kicks, she became _it_. And thinking about her as his future doesn't make his chest tighten with the beginnings of another anxiety attack. 

He's distracted by his own thoughts when he steps into the hall, so he doesn't notice that Malia is waiting right outside the door until she's suddenly _right there_ with her hands pressed to his cheeks and her mouth pressed against his. It takes a minute for his mouth to remember how to respond and his hands to find their way to her waist, attempting to somehow pull her closer even though her pup bump is still pressed against his own front. And then he just lets himself feel _really_ lucky. 

By the time she finally pulls away, he's winded. He ends up gasping for breath as he leans in close enough to press his forehead against hers, watching as her brilliant blue eyes return to their normal, human hue. "I meant it," he says as he finally acknowledges that he's aware of the fact that this reaction has a relationship with her own heightened sense of hearing. 

"I know." She steals another quick kiss before he has to pull away with a smack to take in another shallow breath. "But not now." 

"Right," he agrees. "Can't do anything that archaic." He winks, and there's not even a lingering sadness staring back at him in her eyes as he reluctantly pulls away to wrap an arm around her shoulders instead. "Let's get out of here," he says as presses a kiss to her hair. "I'm pretty sure it's later now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel like talking about cute pups, coyotes and their squishy humans, or how ridiculously good season five is, feel free to find me on [ tumblr. ](http://kaycares22.tumblr.com) :) (There is a possibility there might be a little pup ficlet posted there before the next chapter, too).


	10. Pup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has taken incredibly too long, but hopefully this final chapter is worth the wait. I have loved writing this story and plan to revisit this little world at some point, but this is the end of Stiles and Malia's journey - for now. 
> 
> Thank you to Sarah, who has been my faithful reader throughout the three years it took to finish this fic, and who literally came up with the idea for this fic and then convinced me to give it a chance when I was so against it at first. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Malia's due date comes... and goes.

There's no fanfare or flourish. There are no alarm bells ringing anywhere outside Stiles's head, and not even the rest of the pack stops to wait for a text or a phone call or some kind of shared wolfy intuition that their pack just grew. It sneaks quietly through his window in the middle of the night and settles comfortably into their bed by the next morning where it proceeds to do... Abso-freaking-lutely nothing. 

Okay, _sneaks_ is a little bit of an understatement. It _could_ have snuck up on them if he wasn't to the point of considering doubling his Adderall intake and she couldn't scent his fear from several hundred miles away. The days leading up to the date written on his board are _busy_. The scent that Liam caught in the woods doesn’t disappear; instead, it multiplies or morphs and leaves Derek and Scott _each_ trying to track a foreign alpha while Stiles has the pleasure of convincing Malia she’s way too pregnant for pack adventures. They pass the sweet spot of the summer and hit that bittersweet second act when August doesn't seem so far away, and there are lists of necessary textbooks and a babysitting schedule for the pup that could use some ironing out. They make one last pre-pup trip to the lakehouse with the rest of the pack where Stiles finds himself awake in the middle of the night, reassuring Malia that they'll find an alternative to locking the baby up in the basement during full moons. They finally dissect red-highlighted line after red-highlighted line of the last few chapters of the book, and it's almost as painful as Stiles feared, though it's nowhere near as bad as the night they sit down with Scott, his alternate in case of fainting, to watch a birth video that feels like something straight out of Stiles's worst nightmares. (He has to put his head between his legs; Scott keeps his head held high, but he looks paler than any alpha has any business to. Malia, on the other hand, immediately wants to watch it again.) 

_Sneaking_ may have been a possibility, but it doesn't happen _quite_ like that. 

Because by the time they reach it, her due date lost most of its importance around the time he found himself in the _maternity ward_ of a strange hospital in Arizona, preparing to meet their baby by midnight. And then whatever importance it still has is stripped away earlier in the week of D-Day when the doctor says Pup is _high_ and _not quite engaged_ , and Melissa does Stiles the favor of pulling him into the hallway when he not-so-quietly questions _what kind of idiot doesn't know when the baby will come_ and _what's the point of having a due date if it means **jackshit**_? The date was a hard, fast finish line taunting him for months, but it changes when it suddenly feels like they're _five seconds_ away from having a baby for two weeks straight.

Still, it feels _weird_ when they end up at a baseball game on the day of that hard and fast finish line.

He wakes up in the morning with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that's something like excitement and a tightness in his chest that has the potential to become a panic attack to remember. And when he realizes the other half of the bed is empty, it starts to feel _real_. Real enough that by the time she returns from the bathroom, he's decided that Alpha privileges should make Scott the first call, then Melissa, and if he calls Lydia, he shouldn't _have_ to call Derek, and he's moved on to deciding whether or not they should give Deaton fair warning that his services may be needed. But when he starts to explain this to her, she gives him a blank stare before letting him know that she's not in labor; she just has a baby using her bladder as a pillow. And Stiles flops back down, feeling exhausted because suddenly, her due date stretches before them as an endless expanse of minutes that could be _the one_ when she really does go into labor. 

That minute isn't in the first sixty, though. Or the second. In fact, they're halfway through the fourth hour when they return from the first of a predicted twenty walks that day to find his dad waiting for them. 

"Melissa's on her way," he says just as Stiles is settling in for the next hour of Pup Watch. "We're leaving in twenty. Don't tell me you forgot about the game," he says when he's met with Stiles's silent stare. 

"I didn't forget. I thought you sold the tickets." In fact, Stiles can still see his dad rubbing his hand over his face on Christmas morning, looking like he had aged ten years in as many days, before he sighed _Well, I'm sure someone will take them_. Christmas came less than two weeks after they found out Malia was pregnant, when she was still nauseous from the overwhelming stench of his father's disappointment. For the holiday, they tried to ignore the elephant gestating inside Malia, which actually worked relatively well right up until the moment Stiles opened tickets to a baseball game on Malia's due date. 

"I was going to offer them to Clark if we couldn't go," his dad explains now. "But we can, and we are. I'm not going to sit here and watch _you_ watch her all day." 

Stiles gawks because he's pretty sure he was in the shower for a full _five minutes_ this morning when he couldn't even see her, and she took a half hour for herself (And he really did only knock on the door four times). "What? Who's watching? I'm not watching. What is there to watch?" 

Unfortunately, his dad catches the way his eyes are immediately drawn to the bottom of the stairs when Malia returns from her latest bathroom trip. It's almost like Stiles can physically feel the force of the _I told you so_ his dad's eyes are communicating. He hopes that kind of superpower is the prize in the bottom of this whole baby thing. 

"Malia," his dad says before Stiles has the chance to inquire about post-walk Pup Action. "Would you want to go to a baseball game?" 

" _Yes_ ," she practically sighs. 

_Traitor_ is the first word that comes to Stiles's mind. 

"This is a terrible idea," he says instead, foot beginning to tap against the floor as the tightness returns to his chest. "For one," Stiles continues, using his fingers to count off the items on his list. "It's super hot out there. And two, you're ridiculously huge. And most importantly, why is no one else concerned about Pup making an appearance in the middle of the game?" 

His dad claps a hand on his shoulder, and Stiles kind of hates the level of sympathy he thinks he's going for. "Kid, someone close to the source has assured me that it's not likely that'll happen. So we're going." 

But it continues to feel like a bad idea to Stiles for the entirety of the drive that takes them nearly two hours from the home that's prepared for the baby's birth. And it still feels like a bad idea when even Stiles is pretty sure he smells the woman at the gate's shock when she asks Malia when she's due and his girlfriend nonchalantly responds with _Today_. And it feels like a _terrible_ idea when they're finally settling into their seats behind home plate, and Malia gasps as her features twist into an expression that contains a ton of discomfort. 

"Hey, you okay?" Stiles asks without trying to mask his nervous energy. Malia's on the very edge of her seat, hand pressed to a spot high on the pup bump, and he finds himself scooting forward to mirror her position, bringing a hand to rest against the middle of her back. "Is it the pup? Is it a contraction?" 

She shakes her head as her face relaxes but her hand begins to rub that same spot on her swollen middle. “She's fine." After another minute, the rubbing stops, but she stays on the very edge of her seat. Her gaze falls down to the bump before she turns her attention back to him. "It feels like she's stuck under my ribs." 

Stiles's hand runs up and down her back. "Maybe you need to let her know the exit's in the opposite direction." Malia steals a quick glance down at what used to be her lap and then back at him, and he can sense her question before she has the chance to ask it. "I'm kidding," he reassures her with a laugh before he grows a little more serious. "But seriously, Malia. This feels ridiculous." 

"I'm fine," she says with a shake of her head. "I want to see the game. This is your Christmas present." 

"So what? There's other games." 

She shakes her head again as she slumps back in her seat so her back hits the back of the seat while she's still somehow balanced on the very edge in a way that's kind of impressive. "She's not coming anyways. What else are we gonna do?" 

"You could keep doing those stairs," he says with a casual nod towards the stadium stairs she's already done once on a trip to the bathroom. "Might kick her little pup butt into gear." 

Malia looks uncertainly towards the stairs and follows them even more uncertainly all the way back to the top before she looks back at him. "Really?" 

"Kidding." He rests a hand on her knee and gives it a squeeze in way of reassurance. "Just watch the game." 

But by the top of the third inning, there’s not much watching going on. Instead, there's _a lot_ of rib kicks and an ache settling in the middle of her lower back that she won't admit to. His foot bounces at a near constant pace against the concrete until she digs her nails not-so-gently into his kneecap. And he spends too much time stealing glances at her to have any idea who's up to bat. Twice, he's climbed the stairs with her back to the bathroom; once, he makes the mistake of voicing his amazement over how long the line _outside_ the door is. So by the third time, he starts to stand up to follow her, he earns himself a pretty forceful shove back into his seat. 

Stiles huffs as his back connects with the back of the chair again and stares up at her with wide eyes. He can still feel the outline of her hand against the middle of his chest as he rubs his own hand over the sore spot. "What'd I do?" 

"Nothing. I can go by myself." 

"Yeah, I'm aware," he says as his hand still rubs over that same spot just below his collarbone. It's a minute too late when he realizes his tone was a little more clipped than he meant it to be. His expression softens as he reaches for her hand instead and gives it a squeeze. "You sure?" 

"I'll be fine." 

“Well, I’ll be… here.” He steals a quick glance at her back as she moves towards the stairs and then tries to turn his attention back to the game. But his knee starts bouncing again, and he grips the armrest a little harder than he needs to. And then he gives up, twisting in his seat and craning his neck to watch her until she’s swallowed up by the crowd. 

“Everything okay?” 

Stiles twists back around in his seat quickly, feeling almost like he’s been caught. His dad is leaning forward in his seat as Melissa leans back so Stiles can see the obvious concern on his dad’s face. “Yeah, we’re fine,” he sighs as he slouches back down in his seat. “Unfortunately,” he adds under his breath. The weight of both of their stares falls hard on him, and he turns his head to find both his dad and Melissa watching him, eyebrows raised in perfect unison. With a second, slightly more frustrated sigh, he throws his hands up. “Okay, but seriously. I’m pretty sure I’ve had more contractions so far today than she has.” 

Melissa laughs and reaches over to pat his knee. “Give her time. She’s gonna come when she’s ready.” 

“Today,” he corrects with a shake of his head. Again, he’s met with both of their stares, so he tries again, a little more forcefully. “She’s gonna come today. It’s her due date.” It’s not a good sign when Melissa grimaces.

“I hate to break it to you, but that baby has no idea it’s her due date.” 

“Then what’s even the _point_ of having one if she’s not gonna come?” Melissa gives him a sympathetic smile, which might be worse than the reminder that a _due date is just an estimate_ that she gave him a few days ago. Stiles doesn’t give her a chance to add it. He gives up on pretending to watch the game and turns to face Melissa instead. “She’s gonna come, right? Eventually?” 

“I promise, she won’t stay in there forever,” Melissa vows with a hand pressed over her heart. Her tone is playful, and he half expects her to laugh. Instead, she gives his knee a gentle squeeze before taking her hand back. “Worst case scenario, we give her a little push in the right direction. But we don’t have to worry about that now.” He sighs in resignation, nodding. “Try to relax,” she offers with a shrug of her shoulders. “Get some sleep while you still can. Enjoy your last few days of freedom.” 

Stiles scoffs before he can stop himself, but he bites his tongue to keep from pointing out that he’s getting less than no sleep, and he hasn’t felt free in exactly nine months. He tries to turn his attention back to the game instead, but it’s hard to keep up with the count when he cranes his neck every 15 seconds to try to find her in the mile-long bathroom line. When his ADHD kicks in, he pulls out his phone to find a text from Scott ( _Anything yet?_ ) and quickly replies ( _Attractions still closed for business_.) before pulling back up the article on inducing labor he had started reading earlier that morning when it became clear Pup _wasn't_ on her way. But even that can't hold his attention. By the time she returns ten minutes later, he’s pretty sure he has whiplash. Or maybe a repetitive motion injury. 

“We okay?” he asks her in way of a greeting. He pushes himself up again in his seat so he’s sitting up straight, feet flat against the floor so he’s ready to jump up at a moment’s notice. 

“I’m fine.”

Watching her maneuver her way back into her seat doesn't look fine, but he might have a bruise the shape of her palm already on his chest, so he bites his tongue and tries to stick to reading. “What does it even mean to be effaced?” he asks aloud a minute later. Malia shrugs her shoulders where she's once again balanced on the very edge of her seat. On his other side, he can feel the weight of Melissa’s stare. 

“Do you really want me to explain it?” She asks when he turns to look at her, one eyebrow raised. 

“I’m guessing I should say no,” he says after a moment of thoughtful consideration. Then adds under his breath, “We’re at zero percent anyways, so it probably doesn’t matter.” His foot begins to bounce as he scans his phone again, skipping down the page. “Okay, what about your back? Think it could be contractions?” 

Malia shakes her head. “It’s constant.” 

“Then what about your plug? Did you lose it?” He glances back at Malia quickly before reading further. His expression quickly changes from curious to horrified as he gags. “Oh God. Don’t tell me when that happens,” he says as he meets her confusion with a pained expression. “I might never look at you the same way again.” 

“I swear, I’m going to take away that phone,” he hears his dad say from Melissa’s other side as Malia leans over until her shoulder brushes his so she can read the article on his screen, too. 

“And risk me not having a phone when Malia decides to drop a pup? I don’t think so.” 

“Then I’m turning off your data.” 

“Wifi at home, Pops.” He scrolls a little slower in case Malia’s still reading what’s on the screen, occasionally going faster over sections he'd rather not know about. “Okay, here we go. Ways to induce labor.” 

“We already tried walking,” Malia adds from over his shoulder as he begins to scroll through the second half of the article. She stays mostly silent while he throws out suggestion after suggestion. Malia is strongly against the idea of tea, and Melissa jumps in to warn them against castor oil but offers no explanation why. They're nearly to the end when Stiles turns to her with eyes wide and throws up his hand not holding the phone. 

“Oh my God. Why have we been walking when we could've been having sex?”

“Oh, for the love of God,” his dad groans into his hands now covering his face. 

Malia ignores him as she scrunches up her nose. “It's too hot.”

“Well we'll do it at home,” he says slowly, using the same tone he's used for years to give her human reminders. He also attempts to lower his voice for his dad’s benefit. “And I'll take your clothes off first.” 

She shakes her head and sighs as she rests her back against the back of the seat again. “It’s too hot there, too.” 

“Which is why we should be doing something to get her here,” he argues exasperatedly, emphasizing every word with a wave of his hand. 

Much more patiently, Malia grabs his hand. “She’ll come when she’s ready.” 

Before he can inform her of just what he would like to do with that phrase, the crowd around them erupts in cheers, signalling another game changing play that he missed entirely. He turns his attention back to the field to try to catch the aftermath, but he misses the instant replay on the scoreboard screen a few seconds later when he’s distracted by the way she’s moving to the very edge of her seat, trying to keep her knees as far apart as possible. She shifts back and forth a few times before she deems it a lost cause and drops back into her seat with a sigh. The instant reminder that it’s _her_ body being tested like this is enough to make him feel like an asshole. 

“C’mon,” he says gently as his hand finds the small of her back, rubbing gently. “Let’s get out of here and get you back to the A/C. No sex, I promise.” 

Malia stubbornly shakes her head. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re literally the most pregnant person I’ve ever seen, Mal. No one thinks you’re comfortable.” 

Again, she shakes her head. “I want to watch the game.” 

But she sees very little of the game, and Stiles probably somehow sees even less. The seventh inning stretch still feels as far away as Pup’s arrival when Malia leaves to stand in line for the bathroom for the sixth time. Which is most of the reason why he’s stationed outside the bathroom when she finally returns that time. 

“Hey! Mal!” he calls to catch her attention as he pushes himself away from the wall. 

Her head swings around, searching for the sound of his voice. When she finds him there, her gaze immediately narrows. “I told you I was fine.” 

“I know, I know.” He wraps his arm around her waist and bites his tongue when he feels how her t-shirt clings to her sweaty skin. “But let’s just get out of here.” 

Before she can protest, he starts gently pulling her with him towards the exit. Her whole torso twists in his half-embrace as she tries to see the field. “But the game’s not over.” 

“Doesn’t matter. We’re gonna go home.” 

Malia immediately twists again, coming to a sudden stop so that he’s forced to do the same. “But -” 

“Look,” he sighs as his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “My dad and Melissa already went to get the car. I _need_ to go home. The asshole behind us just made some comment about having paid as much as everyone else to spend more time staring at your back than the game. And I don’t need to miss her birth because I’m being booked for assault charges, okay?” 

Her eyes widen, then narrow just as quickly. Unfortunately, assault charges are a topic they’ve had to discuss before - mostly to establish that they’re _bad_ and _almost always avoidable_. “He said that? Did you hit him?” 

“Almost.” 

“Do you want me to hit him?” 

“No,” he sputters quickly with a shake of his head. “No way. I just want to go home. Because it’s hot and it’s uncomfortable and you’re still not in labor. So please. Do this for me.” 

She tilts her head to the side in careful consideration. And it’s all he can do not to point out the shine on her forehead, or the way her hand is pressed to her lower back even now. He’s about to argue that it’s now three against one with the majority voting to leave when she finally says, “No sex.” 

“Done,” he says quickly and loops an arm around her waist before she can try to change her mind again. “No sex. But she’s still gonna come tonight.” 

A few hours later, he receives confirmation that due dates mean abso- _freaking_ -lutely nothing. 

\----

Five days past her due date, it gets _hot_. Like "shouldn't go outside until after sunset" hot. Like "keep small children and senior citizens inside" hot. Like hell. Yeah, Stiles is pretty sure this is what hell feels like, and he's _not_ pregnant. 

The three window units spaced sporadically throughout the Stilinski house since before Stiles was even born run for three days straight, leaving the house at a balmy 85 degrees on the first floor and just about the Sahara Desert in his bedroom where Malia wasn't sleeping much to begin with. (According to the doctor, Pup has finally dropped. According to Malia, she's wedged between her hips and pressed against her lower back. According to Stiles, she should've been here five days ago.) Even the two box fans Melissa lends them for their bedroom barely bring the temperature down below the surface of the sun. The first night, Malia sleeps naked with the sheets in a pile at the foot of the bed, the door wide open, and his dad given fair warning that she's going to be less than modest until the heat wave breaks. The second night, he takes a spot on the floor after she tells him he feels like an oven from where he's crowded on the very edge of the other side of the bed. The third night, she pulls on one of his t-shirts and takes the couch instead because at least it's a _little_ cooler in the living room, but his dad gives him an earful the next morning after he finds an incredibly pregnant Malia asleep on the couch when he's leaving for work. 

Tonight, on the fourth night, the power grid of Beacon Hills loses to the 10,000 air conditioners that haven't stopped running for 72 hours, and the town goes dark. And when a topless Malia is curling up on her side on the kitchen floor because 1) his dad has the night shift and 2) it's the coolest place in the house, Stiles chooses her over his pride when he sends out a group message to the pack and Derek is the first person to respond with promises of generator-powered A/C in the loft. 

Within the hour, they're settling in for the night, clothes still sticking to their backs because the Jeep had no chance of cooling off during the quick drive across town, and Stiles is trying to decide if it's weirder that Lydia was standing right behind Derek when he opened the door or that he's about to sleep in Derek _freaking_ Hale's bed because the guest room upstairs is warmer than it is down here. He tries really hard to _not_ think about the latter as he quickly texts his dad to let him know where they are, Scott who offered floor space in his own powerless house, and Melissa who must've heard from Scott and offered to pull some strings to get them a room at Beacon Hills Memorial for the night. By the time he sets his phone down and lays down as close to the edge of the bed as possible, he just assumes she's asleep with one pillow beneath her head and a second one wedged under her hips. But then he hears the moan that just barely slides past her lips, and he knows she's wide awake, even if he's staring at her back. 

Immediately, he raises himself up on his elbow and tries to keep his voice just above a whisper. "Mal? You okay?" His anxiety has a permanent grip on his lungs at all times now, and it pulls tighter at moments like this. "Pup action?" 

"No," she says without turning over, the sound a low moan. 

"Are you still hot?" 

"It's better." 

"Is it your back?" 

" 'M fine." 

But _fine_ backs don't cause pain, and he saw for himself the way those familiar black lines ran up Derek's arm when he put his hand on her lower back to guide her inside. His stoic girlfriend has yet to complain once about how overdue their baby is, and her mantra continues to be _She'll come when she's ready,_ but he's not an idiot. And he knows that there's probably few things in the world that are more uncomfortable than this. With a sigh, he scoots a little closer, attempting to keep enough distance between their bodies to keep from making her any hotter. His hands slide beneath the hem of her shirt, and her breath hitches when he presses the heels of his hands firmly against her lower back. 

"Here?" 

"Closer to my hips," she guides him, and when he hits the right spot, he hears an appreciative sigh. "Right there." 

"Harder?" She nods without lifting her head from the pillow and tries to scoot her lower half closer to his hands, but shifting her hips back so they're pressed against his was less of a feat two months ago. "I've got it," he tells her quickly. Moving closer, he presses his hands a little deeper into her back and receives another happy sigh in return. He has a feeling his human hands won't do much for her discomfort, but he can feel her start to relax as he continues to knead her lower back. At least until his hand hits a tender spot closer to her hip and she gasps. "Want to ask Derek to take the edge off?" 

But she shakes her head, turning him down the same way she would've turned down her cousin if he offered instead of accidentally leaching her pain. "She's just so _low_."

"That's _good_. Means she finally found the way out." Malia murmurs something that sounds like an agreement, which is the closest she lets herself come to admitting that she's tired of being pregnant. Stiles, on the other hand, has made no secret of his impatience over waiting for the pup to decide she's ready. "Hey, what if you just stop sitting down?" he suggests now, and her head immediately turns to give him a quizzical look. "If she's that low, gravity should just make her go lower, right? And eventually, she should, y'know, kind of just ... fall out." 

With a sigh, Malia turns her head back to the wall in front of her. "She's not going to fall out." 

"Then maybe we should try to lure her out." 

"Lure her out?" Malia asks, this time without turning her head. 

"Yeah, like you know, offer her something to make her finally want to come out." He pauses for a minute to think, and his hands still against her back in the process. "What does she even like?" 

"Playing with my bladder," Malia deadpans as she pulls the hem of her shirt back down. Stiles takes the hint and pulls his hands away. Then, for good measure, he moves back to the far side of the bed. There's a restless energy that radiates from her, though, and he feels like his hands may have inherited some of it from her lower back. Neither of them is going to be falling asleep just yet. 

"Wanna have sex in Derek's bed?" he suggests next after a considerable amount of silence, no longer as serious. Malia immediately groans. "Okay, so the sex thing hasn't been super successful so far, but still enjoyable." Between her back and the heat, he hadn't expected her to be in the mood for anything that didn't involve actively having a baby, and it's a little too kinky for him to get down and dirty between Derek's sheets, so he'd only meant as a joke. One that doesn't seem so well-received when she's suddenly (or at least as suddenly as the pup bump allows) flipping to her other side to face him. "Whoa. Or not." 

Malia doesn't even seem to hear him, though, as she asks a question of her own instead. "What's your mom's middle name?"

He's so prepared for damage control, it takes him a minute to realize she didn't flip over just so he could see the blue of her eyes when she growled. "Wait - What?"

"Your mom. What was her middle name?"

"Marie," he says, sounding as confused as he feels. "What does that have to do with getting Pup here sooner?" She bites her lip in thoughtful contemplation instead of answering his question, and he reaches over to rest his hand on the side of her pup bump. "You think talking about my mom is gonna lure her out?" he asks with a smirk to match his tone that's just this side of sarcastic. 

"I think she still needs a middle name," Malia replies a half second later. "And you said you didn't want to make it your mom's first name." 

"Yeah, because we don't need to name her after my mom. And I thought we agreed she doesn't need a middle name." 

They _did_ agree, weeks ago when Pup was still able to turn somersaults and Stiles didn't jump at every sigh, wince or soft moan. Picking her first name had been easy, but they went back and forth between the names on the short list of contenders for her middle name for _weeks_ before he finally pointed out that the problem was they didn't actually _like_ any of them. It was his dad who finally asked _why does she **need** one_ , and when Stiles had no answer to what his initial instinct told him was a ludicrous question, it was easy to agree that she wouldn't have one. At least, it _had_ been easy right up until now. 

"Everyone has one," she argues as she props herself up on her elbow, settling in for a longer discussion. 

"You don't have one." 

"But you do. And the rest of the pack does, too." 

Stiles bites his lip to keep from groaning. He can almost hear it in her voice, this _need_ she still has after nearly five years of human existence to do everything the _human_ way. He's pretty sure he already pointed out that she and her sister were both given only first names by _human_ parents, but his girlfriend has chosen instead to focus on the fact that Stiles was named for his dad, Scott for his mom's dad, and Lydia for her mom's maiden name. And while it may be a need for her, he feels like there’s probably a better time to choose a name than now. 

"I think," he starts tentatively as his hand begins to move back and forth across her pup bump, "that this is a conversation we should have when we're not suffering from heat exhaustion. And when she's not trying to become one with your spine." Malia grimaces like she forgot about the tightness in her lower back until he mentioned it, and her hand moves from the bump to press against whatever is sore there. He can't help the way his heart speeds up a little as he watches her. "You know, Melissa said something about back labor. You don't think that's what this is, do you?" 

Malia sighs as she shakes her head. "She's just _really_ low," she reminds him again, and he offers her what he hopes is a sympathetic half-pout in return. She doesn't seem to even notice, though, as her hand comes to rest on his cheek in a silent demand of his full attention. "But what if this is what she's waiting for? What if she's not here because she doesn't have a middle name yet?" 

"You're cute," he says with a laugh before he can stop himself. The suggestion of a frown ghosts over her lips, and Stiles blames the heat and the lack of sleep for stealing his self control. "But there's no way she's extending her stay because we haven't given her a middle name." As soon as he says it, though, he can't stop thinking about the unopened box of tea leaves sitting on the kitchen counter, courtesy of Lydia, or the way that Melissa keeps casually mentioning that Scott was born within 24 hours of a visit to her chiropractor, or the way they've walked at least 500 miles in the number of laps they've done around the block. With Malia almost a week overdue, he's reached a point where he's desperate enough to try to convince her to do almost anything that _might_ make the pup come. So, on second thought... 

"Okay," he says as he pats her side twice before his hand stills. "We take no chances, so give it to me. What are you thinking?" 

"I don't know," she says, her brown eyes trained on him even in the dark. "But it has to mean something." 

He gives a short nod as he props himself up on his elbow, settling in for this discussion. The sleep-deprived half of his brain wants to remind her that Pup doesn't _need_ a middle name while the other half starts to work overtime in an effort to get to sleep sooner. "So what about a family name?" he suggests. "We could name her after your sister or your - " 

_Mom_ is the way he planned to end that sentence. _Abruptly_ is the way he really ends it when she's already shaking her head. 

"We said we wouldn't name her after anyone dead." 

Stiles half-winces at her bluntness, but still nods again in agreement. He still stands by their decision to not saddle her with the name of someone they've lost, too, namely because the list is so expansive, how would they even begin to pick? "Okay. What about your name?" 

Malia scrunches her nose up in disapproval. "Too many M's." 

"So no M names," he says as he starts to list off the requirements that are currently adding up. "Has to have a meaning, can't be the name of anyone we've lost." In the moonlight streaming in through the loft's uncovered windows, Stiles can make out the way her nod is accompanied by a yawn that seems to involve her whole body, and then a wince - probably because it involved her whole body. The amount of sleep he's been getting nightly is somewhere between minimal and nonexistent, and the fact that she's up nearly as often as he is hasn't been lost on him. When it's not her _incredibly_ pregnant body keeping her up, it's the heat, and when the heat breaks, it's the pup, and when she finally falls asleep, it's cramps that are just strong enough to keep her awake but not strong enough to warrant a call to Melissa. And he's willing to bet she could use sleep even more than he could at this point. "Want to try to get some sleep?" he offers as his hand moves from the spot right above her hip to brush her hair back behind her ear. "We can make a decision later." 

But she shakes her head, even as she nods a second time. "She has the hiccups now." 

His hand is drawn back to her bump like a magnet, the pup now big enough that he can feel that constant _tap-tap-tap_ even if she's not directly beneath his hand. He's sure the feeling of the baby bouncing with the force of her own hiccups is something Malia could live without at this point, but it's quickly become one of his favorite things. "What about your back?" he asks without lifting his hand from where he can feel her tiny hiccuping. "How's it feeling now?" 

"Better." Stiles raises an eyebrow in response because better is her second favorite response, right behind _fine_. But she ignores him as she picks up right where they left off with the middle names. "I want her to have a pack name." 

"A pack name," he repeats, phrasing it more like a statement than the question it really is. "Like a name that means pack?" 

"No, _our_ pack." Now, he's really lost. She either picks up on his confused expression in the dark or she can smell it on him because she pauses just long enough to find a more comfortable position for her hips against that pillow. "She's gonna have your last name," she continues once she's stopped moving. "So she'll know she's a part of our family." 

"Well, yeah," he agrees hesitantly, not entirely sure of where she's headed with this idea. All talk about Pup's last name has been brief and occurred only because his dad had thought to ask one night if any formal decision had been made about the baby's last name. Up until then, Stiles had just assumed she'd be a Stilinski because wasn't that just the way things worked? Luckily for him, Malia shared that belief. 

"So, she needs a name to show that she's part of the pack." 

The emotional boyfriend that sometimes exists inside Stiles would tear up and then deny it ever happened in response to this suggestion because he'd dig that she's trying to honor their second family. Tonight, though, Stiles is still too hot to function at full capacity, and he's exhausted enough that even a steady stream of Adderall doses isn't enough to make him give this moment the kind of respect it deserves. Instead, he gives a shrug of his shoulders as one corner of his mouth turns up in a crooked grin. "Then let's name her after Scott." 

He kind of expects her to growl or snarl or flash her eyes. When she's immediately quiet, though, he expects to just be ignored. What he doesn't expect is for her to conclude her thoughtful silence with a nod. "Okay." 

"Wait, what?" he asks, eyes wide. 

"That's perfect." 

He has no one but himself to blame when he laughs a second time. "Mal, c'mon," he says when she shoots him a look that he's pretty sure is a precursor to a growl. "We can't name her after Scott." 

"Why not?" she asks with all of the naive innocence he's always found endearing. 

"Okay, for starters, she's a girl." He nods towards her bump as he begins to follow that same back-and-forth pattern and quickly concludes that there's so much of her in such a little space, there's really not a place where he can't feel her hiccups. "And people would totally start talking." Malia's been pretty blissfully unaware of the whispered comments other people would make when they were in high school, but after the whole werewolf thing started, it didn't go unnoticed that the pack was _always_ together in a cliquey, high-school-after-school-special kind of way. Add to that their weekly appointment at Derek Hale's loft, and, okay, Stiles's first thought would've been _kinky sex club_ , too, if it was anyone else. Stiles is willing to bet on his unborn daughter that letting her share Scott's name wouldn't go unnoticed. 

"Then a part of his name," she argues. With a sigh, she suddenly pushes herself up until she's sitting cross-legged and demanding his full attention. "But she needs something to show she's a part of the pack, or that Scott's her alpha, or... something. She needs to know they're her family, too." 

And that's when it clicks. When she's sitting there with her hands cradling that bump and her tired eyes filled with concern and her voice sounding just urgent enough, it finally makes it through that thick skull of his. He's left with this image of her four years ago during her first pack meeting, on the very outskirts of Derek's living room with her legs crossed beneath her just like they are now but significantly less pup filling her lap, eyes wild with the terror of a hundred animal traps when he patted her knee and told her he'd be right back. He gave up his standard seat on the couch next to Scott to sit against the wall with her, just inside the door where she could see the exit, but he had been downing a lot of coffee in that first week Derek was missing, and eventually the need to go to the bathroom trumped the need to make her feel comfortable. But it's only now when she's talking about helping their daughter to assimilate into the pack that he even remembers there was a time when Malia felt like she didn't belong there with the rest of them. _That's_ why the name matters. 

"C'mere," he says with a wave of his hand as he flops back down to his back. Despite the lingering heat that sticks to her skin and the soreness that hasn't moved from her back, she complies, laying down on her side in the circle of his arm, her bump wedged between their bodies. "I love the idea of giving her a pack name," he tells her sincerely before pressing a kiss to her lips. They stay that way for just long enough for them to research their options on his phone, sticking to variations of Scott's first and last name because, as Stiles explains to her, neither one of them looks hispanic enough for Pup to have anything to do with her alpha's middle name. It's barely been ten minutes when they stumble across Scottie on a list of names, and there's never even a discussion. 

He expects her to pull away as soon as the decision's been made because he's finally starting to feel comfortable, but her shirt is still sticking to her back between her shoulders. When she doesn't, though, he decides to take advantage of this momentary closeness and tugs her a little closer. "Scottie Stilinski," he says aloud once she's found a comfortable spot against his side. "It's a lot of S's." 

"I like it." Her hand finds its way to his abdomen, finger tapping in time with the beating of his heart for nearly a full minute before she talks. "She needs to have your name." 

"You do too," he says before he's thought it all the way through. And then the words are there in that tiny space between them, but they feel like they're really still wedged in the back of his throat. He's actually pretty sure they're choking him - to _death_ \- because it just got much harder to breathe. Because he can sit at the kitchen table with his dad and tell him about his plans to marry Malia a _long, long, long_ time from now, and he can roll his eyes when Scott asks if he's _really gonna marry her, man_? He can look _freaking_ Peter Hale in the eye and tell him that his daughter is going to be a Stilinski someday in the future and never even flinch, but he's never even really asked Malia, aside from the one time she asked him and he responded by acting like marriage was right up there with death by drowning and the plague. The only small grace he's been awarded is that Malia's too tired or too sore or too hot or too all of the above to notice the way his heart has sped up. 

"I mean," he tries again, face suddenly hotter than the oven that exists outside. "Do you want an S too? An S name?" Mentally, he kicks himself because what the hell is an _S name_ and since when does he talk like a preschooler? " I mean my last name? Do you want my last name? Someday," he clarifies quickly, heart pounding against his rib cage. "Like a _long_ time from now." 

For a minute, Malia is silent, and he thinks there must be a God if she just slept through that entire fumble. Then he realizes she was just pausing long enough to find a more comfortable position. "Do you mean marry you?" She asks, condensing his entire ramble of stupidity into a single question. 

This time, he mentally kicks himself harder. 

"Yeah," he says, rubbing a hand over his sleep deprived, should be shut mouth. "That. But someday. Like -"

"A long time from now," she finishes for him. She lifts her head from his chest so that he can see her nod in the dark. "Yeah. But someday. Not now."

He smiles in response now that he can finally breathe again. "Y'know, when it's a little less archaic."

"Of course."

"God, I love you, Mal." He shakes his head with a laugh before leaning down to kiss her, realizing for what has to be the millionth time that she's not like other girls, and he has no idea how he got so lucky.

A few seconds later, she's moaning against his mouth as she pushes him away with her hand against his chest. "Too hot," she mumbles when he pulls away, sounding as breathless as he felt a few minutes ago. He presses one more kiss to her forehead before lifting his arm from her shoulder and letting her move away. He stays there just long enough for her to find a comfortable way to lay with that pillow propped beneath her hips again before he moves back to the very edge of his own side of the bed. 

"So what's the verdict?" He asks softly as he reaches across the expanse of bed between them to press a hand against her middle. "Did it work? Is she moving south with her new middle name?"

In the moonlight, he can make out a shake of her head. "Her hiccups stopped."

"Hey. Shout out to her." One hand is curled beneath her pillow now, the other resting on her bump where he's willing to bet the pup is now still. Maybe at least for a few hours, they'll finally be able to sleep. "What about your back?”

" _Stiles_."

"Got it." He moves his hand up and down against her bump one more time before pulling it away. He can tell she's the closest to sleep she's been tonight, but he's still feeling restless. "Want to have sex in Derek's bed _now_?"

"Go to sleep, Stiles," she mumbles back sleepily. 

"Okay. I love you, Mal."

"Love you too."

He watches her for another minute before he finally closes his eyes, taking full advantage of Derek's central A/C while he has the chance. Besides, with her middle name locked down, he has a good feeling about the next day.

(Nothing happens the next day.)

\-----

Malia is ten days past her due date when it all starts to feel too _human_. Like maybe the animal beneath her skin could only keep up the charade for so long, and that moment of defeat comes when she's hotter than she's ever been with a lower back that constantly aches and a baby that's finally dropped beneath her ribs. And of all the enemies she's found herself face-to-face with, it's 41 and a half weeks of pregnancy that she finally falls victim to. 

It's mid-way through their weekly Sunday night pack meeting when it starts to sink in. A few days after Stiles has his first panic attack in months on an afternoon when she can’t remember the last time she felt the pup kick, and another night when her sensitive hearing catches every word of the Sheriff asking Melissa _Is this a coyote thing_? After a pack meeting when the quickly multiplying alpha scents in the preserve give them enough important pack business for two hours’ worth of discussion, but it gets shoved under the rug the minute she walks through the door with Stiles and his tight-lipped grimace and huffed _No baby_. 

Instead of sharing theories about where all of those mysterious wolves are coming from and why they’re suddenly in McCall territory, Lydia asks if she’s tried the tea while Allison suggests an appointment for acupuncture, and Derek doesn’t bother to pull Stiles out of _her_ earshot before quizzing him on everything Melissa has said about the pup’s late arrival. And somewhere in the middle of it all, she starts to feel like maybe having a baby is just too human for her. 

So when they finally get home a few hours later, Malia barely waits until she's in their bedroom before beginning to undress. By the time Stiles makes it upstairs after getting distracted by a text from Scott about the wolves everyone else _forgot_ to talk about, she's down to just her underwear. 

"Oh my god." Malia looks up at the sound of his voice, watching the way his eyes dart back and forth between her and the doorway. "Holy - We're just gonna..." His eyes are glued to her as he meets her gaze first and then scans slowly down her body before something snaps him out of it and he looks away long enough to shut the door. 

"What?" she asks, feeling as confused as he looks shocked. 

"Uh, I think my dad's home, for one." There's the distinct sound of the lock clicking into place before Stiles steps away from the door. "Are you this hot? We could try Derek's again if -" 

"I want to have sex," she responds bluntly, mostly ignoring his question. 

Stiles just stares at her again for a long, silent minute before his mouth breaks into a crooked grin."You're kidding, right?" 

"Why would I?" 

"Mal, you're going for the world record for gestation here. I don't think sex is the best idea," he says with a laugh. The fact that the joke is lost on her doesn't do anything to relieve the feeling that she's still a coyote masquerading as a girl. Stiles picks up on her frustration, though, and the smile slides away from his face. "C'mon," he tries again, a little more gently. "Let me rub your back instead." 

"No," she disagrees with a shake of her head. "That won't work." 

"Won't work for _what_?" 

His question falls on deaf ears as she kisses him instead until he moans against her mouth. There's a rush of exhilaration that comes with the knowledge that the animal beneath her skin can still do this right even while she fumbles through everything else. Her body stopped feeling like her own almost a week ago when the baby settled down lower. She still doesn't understand half of the words Melissa uses when she tries to explain why the pup still isn't here, and she can't remember the last time her back didn't ache in that slow, steady throb that never is back labor like Stiles hopes it might be. But her hands know where to touch him, her mouth moves against his own without guidance. And for a minute, she feels like herself again. 

Unfortunately, it's short lived, and it dies a slow, painful death she can't stop. She has to pull away in order to lower herself down gently to sit on the edge of the bed, growling at Stiles when he tries to help. But she does have to let him help her find a comfortable place for the pillow under her hips. And then there's the awkward moment when Stiles freezes, pointing out that the pup seems _much_ lower than the last time they did this, so is it _really_ safe? But even that feels like nothing compared to that moment when they've finally figured out how they fit together when she's ten days past her due date, Stiles's front flush against her back as he moves inside her, and Malia has to face the fact that even this feels like a struggle anymore.

She tries to ignore the way her back still aches and her swollen breast stings when his hand slides over it and tries instead to focus on the kisses he presses over her shoulder, the back of her neck, and the middle of her back. It turns out her performance isn't as convincing as she thought. 

"You okay?" he asks her after she sighs for the third time. 

"Fine," she says. She closes her eyes as she tries to focus on the rhythm of his hips rocking against hers, but her back still aches and her hips still ache. Sighing for a fourth time, she cranes her neck and tries to make eye contact over her shoulder, but his face is still hidden from her view though his breath is warm against her skin. “Just - Are you almost done?” 

And suddenly, everything comes to a halt. He grows still and tense against her back, and she know she’s done something wrong before he says a word. “Wait. _What_?” 

“Nevermind,” she says quickly. “I just -” 

“No, no, no. What’s wrong? I thought you wanted this.” 

“I did. I _do_. I mean -” 

“Not if you’re just waiting for me to get off. Oh my _god_.” 

“That’s not what I -” She stumbles when she chokes on the quickly rising lump in the back of her throat. He smells like nerves and shame, the way he did for weeks after they found out about the pup. And her own chest feels tight in a way it never used to before she started having panic attacks about being a mom. And her eyes burn with the threat of tears, which is relatively new, too. In short, she doesn’t feel like herself, and she has no idea what she wants. It’s that last realization that opens the floodgates and sends those confusing tears rolling down her cheeks. “Can you just finish?” she pleads with a sniffle. 

His hand suddenly grips her hip a little tighter. “Oh my god,” he says with an almost frantic edge to his voice. “Are you crying?” 

“Stiles, _please_.” 

“ _Shit_. Okay, okay, “he says. His hand moves from her hip to her shoulder and then down to her elbow as he rubs her arm. “We’re gonna stop.” 

Immediately, she shakes her head and tries to twist back around to look at him. She only succeeds in pressing her body a little more tightly against his, though, and he groans in response as he grips her shoulder tightly. “Oh my god. You gotta stop, Mal. Little Stiles hasn’t gotten the memo yet.” Against the back of her neck, he takes a series of deep breaths that sound suspiciously like the way he’s tried to get her to breathe through contractions. “Okay,” he says when his breathing returns to normal. “Here we go.” 

A series of awkward movements and clever maneuvers follows, punctuated by Stiles’s swearing, until he’s able to bury his face in his own pillow with a much longer string of expletives. On a normal night, she wouldn’t hesitate to point out that none of those words paired together like that made sense. Tonight, she curls a little tighter around the swell of her middle. Tears continue to roll down her cheeks, and she chokes on his scent, heavy with guilt but still edged with desire. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he curses again as his fist hits the mattress. The sound makes her jump, then leaves her feeling guilty as he groans again into his pillow. And suddenly, her chest pulls tight with the same vulnerable feeling that left her gasping for breath in a strange motel room and a public bathroom. She can’t be there next to him, listening to his own ragged breathing punctuated by frustrated outbursts. Before she can change her mind, she sits up as quickly as her swollen middle will allow and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. 

Just before her feet touch the floor, the bed shifts beneath her as Stiles sits up.“Whoa. Hey.” The springs in the mattress groan as he scrambles across it on his knees before dropping down to sit next to her. “Where’re you going?” 

She swallows hard and looks away from his face, blurred by her tears. In the past, when the animal in her brain said _flight_ , she hid in her room, but the room across the hall belongs to the baby now. Sometimes, she would literally run because feeling her feet pound against the forest floor was the most coyote-like thing her human body could do, but she stopped running weeks ago when the pup started throwing off her balance. The loft, the McCall house, and the beach have been her safe haven at other times, but she can’t drive anymore. So now, she’s trapped here with him. 

Just as she realizes she has no answer to his question, he looks down to where her gaze unintentionally fell to just below his waist, and then grimaces as he gingerly pushes himself to his feet. “Just give me a minute, okay?” 

He’s gone just long enough for her to wipe at the stubborn tears that escaped her eyes and pull herself together enough to keep her vision from blurring over again. But by the time he’s back in front of her, wearing sweats that at least attempt to hide his quickly fading erection, she still has no escape. “Okay,” he starts gently as he crouches down in front of her and rests his hand on her knee. “What happened, Mal? What’s wrong?” 

She shakes her head as she wipes at the sticky residue of her tears again. “Nothing.” 

“Uh-uh,” Stiles insists with a shake of his head. “It’s not nothing. Just tell me what’s going on. Does something hurt?” 

A lump forms in the back of her throat as his hand rubs her knee and his tone stays gentle and calm, and she can only shake her head again for fear of crying more. 

“Okay, then did I do something?” 

Again, she shakes her head as more tears well in her eyes. 

Stiles sighs. “So then what’s going on? Why are you crying?” 

Her bottom lip trembles as her eyes dart towards the closed door again, that instinct to run still loud in her own head. But when she looks back, he’s still there in front of her, reaching up to wipe away another stray tear. “I don’t know,” she finally relents. “I thought I wanted this, but -” She stops when the lump in her throat begins to ache under the pressure of a sob. 

“But what, Mal?” He asks when she doesn't immediately continue. And then he waits. He smells like worry. His hand moves from her knee to the place where the pup has begun to stir beneath her skin, almost like he could sense her restless energy, too. But he waits until finally, she lets herself spill. 

“But my back hurts,” she confesses for the first time since the dull ache that started a few months ago became a constant throbbing earlier that week. “And there’s so much pressure. She’s so _low_. But she won’t come out.” 

“I know,” he half-sighs. “I mean, I don’t know, but it sounds pretty miserable.” He grimaces in sympathy as his hand moves again, palm cupping her cheek. “But you’ve been incredible.” Malia immediately starts to shake her head, and he stops her with a subtle shake of his own. “I’m serious. Like total badass status.” A hiccup of a laugh spills out of her mouth as she wipes at her runny nose then her drying tears, and his laughter mixes with her own. “And this? Admitting it sucks? Just makes you human.” 

Her bottom lip trembles as his thumb moves across her cheek, wiping away those last few tears. “Really?” 

Stiles nods. “Very weak human of you.” She laughs again. Her back still aches and that pressure is still there in the space between her hips, but that tightness has left her chest, and she no longer has that anxious energy radiating beneath her skin, telling her to run. “But,” he interrupts her quick body inventory with a more serious tone. “I think we should give the whole sex thing a rest.” 

“But it’s supposed to make her come,” Malia argues quickly. That slightly panicked, frantic energy flickers for a second at the idea of no longer having any options to try to jump start her labor. “And you -”

He cuts her off with a definitive shake of his head. “I’m fine. Seriously. I’m more worried about you guys right now,” he says with a nod towards her swollen middle as his hand moves to rest against the bump. “And I think you and Melissa and my dad are all right,” he concedes with a sigh. “I think she’s gonna come when she’s ready. We’ve just gotta wait.” 

“Well, waiting sucks.” 

Stiles nods emphatically, eyes wide. “Right?” he agrees. Her tears have stopped completely now. She’s relaxed enough to bring her hand to rest beside his. His eyes focus on her bump again as he twines his fingers with hers, then back up to her when he speaks again. “But I think she’s gonna be worth it.” 

It takes four more days, but Stiles is right - about everything. 

\----

Two weeks past Pup's slated arrival, it _finally_ starts _slow_. And Stiles misses it. 

Later on - more than 36 hours later, to be exact - Stiles will look back on this moment and realize that just about when Malia figures out it's more than just cramps this time, he's a few blocks away, throwing himself dramatically down on Scott's bed. The headboard hitting the wall drowns out Stiles's groan and leaves a mark in the plaster that earns him a glare from Scott. 

"She told me I'm making her nauseous," he sighs as he ignores Scott and looks up to the ceiling instead. "She said I smell so bad, it's literally making her sick." 

"She's right." 

"She kicked me out of my own _house_." 

"I thought she just told you to go somewhere else." 

With another dramatic sigh, Stiles pushes himself up on his elbows so he can see Scott where he's still seated at his desk. There's no indication he's heard a word of what Scott has said as he narrows his eyes in his best friend's direction. "Do I really smell that bad?" 

"You reek, dude," Scott confirms. 

Stiles groans as he falls back on the bed. "I can't help it. She's having a baby on _Tuesday_." 

"But that's good, right?" Scott asks somewhere between an actual question and what Stiles guesses was his intended statement. "I mean, it's finally gonna happen. And you know it's coming." 

Stiles makes a face in response. _Good_ isn't the word that comes to mind during the twenty hours a day he spends thinking about Tuesday. It feels more like an execution date. He pushes himself back up so that he can see his best friend’s face again. "Scott. Do you have any idea what the word _induced_ actually means? Pup's coming on Tuesday, but Malia also has to go to the _hospital_. And be hooked up to an I.V. so they can give her drugs that may or may not be overpowered by her coyote immune system. _And_ give birth in a room full of strangers to a baby who may or may not have a _tail_." 

Scott's attempt at optimism is gone, replaced by a wide-eyed expression as he sits in silence. Stiles would probably feel a little smug about this, too, if they weren't discussing the most important day of his life to-date. Instead, his body slowly begins to remember he's been averaging an hour of sleep for the past week, and he just feels exhausted. He lays back down, all evidence of a dramatic flair forgotten. 

"But my mom's gonna be there, right?" Scott finally asks. He doesn't even sound like he's convincing himself as he's trying to be encouraging. "She said she'd be there." 

Stiles agrees with a sigh and a nod. "Now I just have to get _Malia_ there." 

" _Oh_." 

He doesn't bother to explain any further to his best friend because Scott was there in Arizona to watch as Stiles got down on his _freaking_ knees outside of the Jeep to convince Malia to go inside. He's also smart enough to bring up the fact that even though Malia agreed to the induction at her last appointment, he's not sure she really understands what it means when she _still_ keeps talking about having the baby at home. At least, he's smart enough to not mention the fact that he hasn't tried to explain it just yet. Lately, he's been thinking the parking lot might be his best option - on the day of. 

But those are worries for future Stiles. With another sigh, he pushes himself all the way up to sit on the edge of the bed. "Okay. Distract me," he says with a nod towards Scott's phone. "What have you guys found so far?" 

It's weird for Stiles to be on the outskirts of pack business, but pup's impending arrival has trumped everything else. Plus, Malia is so many weeks too pregnant to be searching the woods with everyone else, he doesn't even bother to count anymore. Still, he's kept himself up-to-date on the alpha situation because the pack's about to have a tiny coyote on their hands, and it'd be good to at least know about all of the potential threats to her safety. So far, there's no real evidence of a threat, but there's two distinct pack scents in the woods and a howl that woke all of them up in the middle of the night just a few nights back. Derek's been contacting other packs his family used to keep in touch with, and Scott's been chasing scents until they disappear somewhere just past the preserve, but they're not really getting anywhere. Which is exactly why Scott is showing him this today, after Malia's kicked him out for the afternoon and he could really use the distraction. There's next to nothing to go on, but if someone in the pack could figure out next to nothing, it'd be Stiles. 

They never actually get that far, though. 

Ten minutes later, Scott's in the middle of explaining to him why they _think_ one of the packs could be a pack Derek knows from Michigan when he suddenly freezes mid-sentence. Even in his human form, Stiles can picture his ears standing up straight, along with the hair on the back of his neck. It's enough to send a shiver down his own spine. He claps a hand on Scott's shoulder, startling him out of it in the process. "Scotty, you okay?" 

Scott stares at him, blinks twice, looks at the wall in the direction of... something Stiles's human nose or ears missed. And then he shakes his head like he's physically getting rid of whatever had his attention. "Yeah. 'M good. What were we talking about again?" 

"You were telling me that Derek thinks he recognized the scent closest to the loft. You sure you're okay?" 

"I'm fine." Scott looks back down to the picture of the claw marks pulled up on his phone with a nod. "Yeah, he thinks it's familiar. And definitely an alpha because -" Again, Scott interrupts himself, staring at the wall where there is... literally nothing. Stiles watches it like maybe he just has to wait for his eyes to cross and then he'll be able to make out the image hidden in the wall, too, but his patience wears thin. He turns his attention back to Scott, narrowing his eyes with the question he's not about to ask again. Scott snaps out of it once more, but it leaves him with a nervous energy as he looks between the spot on the wall, Stiles, and Stiles’s phone laying out on his bed. "Have you heard from Malia?" 

Stiles shakes his head. "She told me she was gonna try to sleep. Can we talk about whatever your inner wolf is freaking out over here?" 

"Maybe you should text her." 

"Dude. _No_. She's slept like four hours in the past two nights. If I wake her up now, I'll be six feet under before Pup comes on Tuesday." 

"Then maybe we should go check on her." 

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" He searches Scott's face for some clue to help explain away his odd behavior. Sometimes, the alpha can sense a threat. Not in a sixth sense kind of way, but in a can-smell-another-alpha-from-fifty-miles-away kind of way. But there's also a sixth sense kind of way that lets all of the wolves in the pack sense approaching earthquakes or brewing storms buzzing beneath their human skin. It's not either of those things staring back at him, though. A shiver runs down his spine as he finally accepts this isn't alpha related, and he's not being baited to check on his girlfriend while Scott rushes off to the real problem. "Scott..." 

"I think you need to check on her." 

Stiles is on his feet in record time, hands shaking and heart pounding. "What? What is it? What happened? What's wrong with her?" 

Scott shakes his head as he gets to his own feet much more slowly. "Nothing. I don't think anything's wrong," he says slowly. "I think -"

"Oh my god," Stiles cuts him off. His sense of realization feels more like a fist around his chest that pulls so tight, he sees spots along the edges of his vision. "Holy _shit_." It's an earthquake that Scott can feel, alright - just not the kind that can be measured on the Richter scale. It's just Stiles's world that's about to be rocked. 

"Maybe you should call her first," Scott offers. 

"We need to _go_ ," Stiles argues with a shake of his head as he picks up the sweatshirt he discarded in an earlier tirade and then heads for the door. He's halfway there when his phone sounds from where he left it in the middle of the bed. He jumps at the sound and then freezes for all of five seconds before nearly diving for his phone. He picks up halfway through the second ring. "Malia?" he answers, gasping for breath even though he's done zero strenuous things in the last _week_. "Is it Go Time? Is this it?" 

"I think so," Malia responds with no hesitation, and his stomach ends up in the back of his throat. "I don't know. It feels _weird_ this time. Why do you sound like that?" 

"Weird _how_?" Stiles asks as he begins to pace in a tight circle right in front of Scott's bed. But his mind is moving twice as fast as his feet, so he launches into an onslaught of questions before she can even answer the first one. "How bad is it? How far apart are they? When did it start? Did you call Melissa?" 

It turns out she's fine, she doesn't know, maybe an hour ago, and a vehement _no_ because they've assembled the pack before - _three times before_ \- and still have no baby to show for it. Eventually, he realizes wearing a hole straight through Scott's floor isn't doing much to calm his nerves and definitely isn't helping the more obvious issue here, so he abandons the pacing and focuses on actually getting home during his next round of questioning ( _Was that a contraction? Are you sure? Did your water break? Are you sure? Should I call my dad? Okay, okay! We'll wait!_ ) He keeps her on the phone until he's parked in his own driveway again, but halfway home, she falls silent in a way that sounds an awful lot like a contraction, and he ends up fitting a seven minute drive into two and a half. 

He finds her in his room when he finally makes it inside, a little winded with Scott right on his heels. Her eyes are closed as she white-knuckles the edge of his desk and sways back and forth so softly, he almost misses it. Her hair is already pulled up in a messy bun, and even from the doorway, he can tell her skin has the shine of another 90+ degree day. "Mal?" he starts tentatively as he takes an even more tentative first step into the room. Every part of him is screaming to touch her while he follows up his last twenty questions with the next set, but weeks of preparing for this moment has taught him better. Her eyes flutter open, looking a little wild and dazed, and he immediately moves close enough to put a hand on her bump. "Hey. How are you feeling?" 

She starts to shake her head, hand curling into the fabric of his shirt when she puts a hand against his chest to steady herself, but then her eyes drift from his face to something over his shoulder, and she freezes. “I’m fine.” 

Stiles looks over his shoulder expecting to see his dad or Melissa, or maybe one of these mysterious alphas who keep popping up all over the preserves, but there’s only Scott. Pale, nervous Scott who looks the way Stiles feels inside from where he’s still standing in the doorway. There’s a comfort in that, one that makes Stiles give a nervous laugh because let’s face it - this whole situation feels like a joke. “Yeah?” he asks with another laugh. 

“Yeah.” She blinks once before she finally looks back at him. And then she’s uncurling her fingers to gently push him away instead. “You guys should go." 

He gives her a crooked grin as he waits a beat, then two for Malia to change her mind. When she doesn't, his smile falls. "Are-are you serious?" 

"I'm fine, Stiles." 

"No," he says with a definitive shake of his head. "No way. You're having a baby, Malia. We talked about this." He takes a step to close the distance she just created. "I wanna be here. I get to be here." 

Her eyes dart over his shoulder before she grabs the front of his shirt again. Stiles's eyes grow wide as her grip yanks him forward another step. "Just for a little while," she says, pleading with her words as much as she does with her big brown eyes. "This might not be it. So just for now. Until we know." 

He hates the idea. He hates it, he _loathes_ it, he would be happier to spend the next few hours with Peter than he would leave her alone right now. But seven minutes into their back-and-forth, she bites down hard enough to draw blood from her lip to keep from making a sound during the next contraction, and he knows he'll give her whatever she wants. 

Which is how he ends up relegated to the hallway with Scott after compromising to moving right outside the cl0sed - but not locked - bedroom door. He drops to the floor beside the door with a huff, cell phone in hand so he can attempt to time what's going on behind that closed door from the little he can hear. But his leg can't stop bouncing violently against the floor, so eventually, he gets up to pace the hallway. Scott takes his spot, alpha ear pressed to the door and cell phone in hand, while he talks Stiles down from five different ledges in as many minutes. Two minutes later, Scott pauses mid-sentence to look at the phone, and Stiles earns a rug burn on the side of his calf sliding back into his spot beside the door. 

"Mal? You okay?" He asks, ear pressed against the door in a futile attempt to hear whatever Scott's alpha ears heard. 

"I'm fine," she insists from somewhere on the other side of the door, sounding a little breathless. 

Stiles grits his teeth and curls his hand into a fist as he fights the urge to argue with her. He tries to picture her doubled over his desk instead, eyes squeezed shut as she bites on her lip to keep him and Scott from hearing anything. 

45 seconds after it started, the tension leaves Scott’s shoulders and he relaxes against the door again. “I think she’s good now.” 

Stiles nods and fumbles with his phone again as he clocks in this latest contraction. “Seven minutes.” With a sigh, he settles more comfortably on the floor, then presses his ear against the door to his bedroom. But he can’t hear anything. He sighs again as he moves away from the door and lets his head drop against the wall. “How does she seem? Like chemosignal-wise?” 

“She’s good. Mostly uncomfortable. You’re way more stressed.” 

Stiles makes a face at the accusation but doesn’t try to deny it. He looks back to the door, watching it for a solid thirty seconds before pressing his ear to it again, still hearings nothing. “What about the baby?” he asks, this time without lifting his head. “Does she sound good?” 

Scott nods without hesitation. “She’s good, too.” 

“What about your Alpha Dad senses? Are they tingling?” Scott shoots him a glare, and Stiles is quick to hold his hands up like a shield. “Hey, man. This is it. You become Alpha Daddy now. You ready for this?” 

Stiles already knows several _weeks_ of quality pack time have been spent brainstorming ways to make a diaper-wearing beta understand she can't shift, but Scott doesn't argue this now. Instead, he swallows hard and gives a half-hearted nod before turning the question back on Stiles. "Are you?" 

He scoffs before he can stop himself. " _No._ ” His gaze drops to his lap and his knee starts to bounce now that he's admitted to this out loud. It's one thing to think it when he's laying beside Malia at night, watching the pup stretch beneath her skin, but it's an entirely different thing to watch Scott’s reaction. “She’s having a _baby_ ,” he says in hopes that saying it again might make it sound less bizarre, but it doesn’t. 

“Dude. I know,” Scott says, wide-eyed beside him. 

“I can’t take care of a _baby_ ,” Stiles adds, spurred on by Scott’s shared disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve ever changed a diaper. And I still don’t get the swaddle thing. I’ve barely even _held_ a baby.” His chest feels tight at the memory of the tiny, tiny newborn he held a few months ago, and he lets his head fall back against the wall again as he fights to keep himself from beginning to hyperventilate. “This was a terrible idea.” 

“But you guys are gonna be awesome,” Scott says without any hesitation. Stiles raises a critical eyebrow, but Scott nods emphatically to help him make his point. “Seriously. You’ve done so much to get ready for her. And you guys take care of her already.” Scott claps a hand on his shoulder and gives it a firm shake, eyes now locked on Stiles’s. “Stiles, man. You’re gonna be a great dad.” 

There’s an immediate lump in his throat that Stiles is quick to attribute to the lack of sleep he’s experienced lately and the stress of his current situation. It takes him a full minute to find the words to vocalize his gratitude, but just when he opens his mouth, there’s a definite sound of a moan from the other side of the door. His heart picks up its pace as Scott quickly looks down at the phone between them, obviously as certain as Stiles that it hasn’t been another 7 minutes. “Hey Malia?” he asks gently, trying to ignore how much he feels like he might puke. 

“I’m fine,” she quickly replies. The tremor in her voice says otherwise. 

“Yeah, well that didn’t sound fine.” He hits his fist against the floor in frustration, then grimaces with regret before he turns his attention back to Scott. “Did that sound fine to you?” 

Scott wears a pained expression, stuck between his best friend and his beta, as he opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish before deciding to just say nothing. 

“Malia - “ 

“Do _not_ open that door! If you do, I swear to God - “ 

“Okay, okay,” Stiles sighs on his side of the door. He presses his ear against the closed door and just barely makes out the sound of her moaning a second time. “I won’t come in yet. Just don’t start holding your breath again.” 

Scott presses his ear to the other half of the door. “She’s breathing, Pup sounds good too.” 

Stiles lets out his own breath. “She started holding her breath during contractions in Arizona,” he explains. Scott pulls his ear away from the door, and Stiles follows suit. But it lasts only a few seconds before he’s eyeing the door and then pressing his ear against it one more time.“I should be in there, Scotty.”

“I'm sure she'll let you in soon.”

“Yeah? And what if she doesn't?” When Scott doesn't have an answer, Stiles groans. “This is gonna be a _long_ night.”

 _It’s gonna be a **longer** night for Malia_ is the second half of that statement that Stiles only thinks because he’s pretty sure the werecoyote ears on the other side of his bedroom door would still hear that. Without fail, his jittery foot picks up right where it left off as he tries to imagine _hours_ of the helpless feeling he had been glad to leave behind at that unfamiliar hospital when the doctor had declared Pup still not ready. He held her hand and told her she was doing a good job and mostly felt like an idiot that night. And he somehow feels even _less_ prepared this time. 

What he needs is a good distraction. Turning his attention back to Scott, he finds that his best friend is now engrossed with his phone. “Hey,” he says to get his attention. Scott immediately lifts his head, eyes wide with the concern of an alpha. “She’s gonna heal afterwards, right?” 

Scott’s brows meet in the middle of his forehead. “Why wouldn’t she?” 

“I mean _everywhere_ ,” Stiles clarifies, then swallows hard before repeating the question. “Is she gonna heal _everywhere_?” 

His best friend’s confusion clears up and is replaced by something more between awe and horror. “Dude - You mean - Like - “ 

Stiles nods with a slightly impatient sigh. 

“I don’t know,” Scott says, wide-eyed. He’s silent for nearly a minute before he finally asks, “Has it healed before?”

There's a long pause where Stiles's expression changes from utter disbelief to something resembling disgust when Scott continues to just sit there, waiting for a response. “ _Why_ would it have had to heal?” he finally asks incredulously. 

Scott is silent again, head cocked to the side in thought before he finally shakes his head. “I don't know.”

“What do you _think_ we do?” Stiles asks. “You know what? I don’t want to know what you think. I just want to know if I have to worry about her - “ 

He’s cut off by another moan from the other side of the door, and he and Scott immediately have their ears pressed against it again. 

They spend the next hour in that same pattern, talking about Stiles’s fears and worries and anxieties to then drop everything the second there’s any sound even slightly resembling pain from behind the closed door of his bedroom. He starts to feel sick more than once, and there’s a borderline panic attack when he realizes they’re suddenly down to four minutes between those soft, muffled moans, but Scott talks him down from that cliff, too. And then the next one when he almost caves and opens the door despite her threats. Eventually, though, it becomes routine. They make a game of trying to stop the stopwatch on Stiles’s phone at the exact same time Scott’s ear gets pressed to the door. They get good at it. And Stiles manages to forget that his life will literally _never_ be the same again after this. 

“Hey, it’s okay, Mal,” he finds himself coaching her through the door an hour later when Scott whispers that he can feel her growing more agitated. “Just try to breathe through it.” His own breathing becomes a series of exaggerated inhales and exhales that one of his many psychologists had taught him at some point to try to calm a panic attack, silently hoping it’s more successful for her than it ever was for him. Glancing down at the timer running on his phone, he feels relieved to find they’re approaching the forty second mark. “It’s almost over, Malia.” 

“Do I even want to know what’s going on?” a voice suddenly says from behind him, and Scott and Stiles both jump. Stiles’s head whips around to find his dad standing there, obviously home from his shift. Stiles hadn’t bothered to call earlier because 1) he’s had his dad _and_ Melissa’s schedules memorized lately _just in case_ and 2) contacting his dad any sooner may have led to Malia maiming him. Now, though, his dad is standing there, trying to make sense of the two of them sitting with their ears pressed to the closed door doing those weird breathing exercises, and Stiles can admit it probably looks a little suspicious. 

“Hey, Dad,” he manages to greet his dad, more casually than he’s done anything since Malia closed the door. “We’re just trying to figure out if this is Go Time.” 

A long silence passes before his dad narrows his eyes in Stiles’s direction. “You mean to tell me,” he says as he crosses his arms over his chest. “That Malia is _in labor_ and you are _sitting in the hallway_?” 

“She told me she wanted to be alone.” 

“So this was your solution?” he asks, not trying to mask his judgment. 

“Well, yeah, I -” 

“Get in there!” His dad gestures towards the door with the hand that would probably smack Stiles if he were standing up right now. “You don’t even know what’s going on!” 

“But we’ve been timing it!” he argues with a wave of his phone. “And Scott can hear her! Dad, she told me this is what she _wants_ , and I want to live long enough to meet that Pup.” 

His dad narrows his eyes again, and Stiles immediately begins to wrack his brain for a better way to explain why he _had_ to stay in the hall, but his search is quickly forgotten when Malia chooses to make her presence known from the other side of the door. 

“ _Stiles_?” Her voice has lost that annoyed edge, and it sends him immediately scrambling to his feet. 

“,” he curses and then silently curses his girlfriend, too. “I swear, she wanted to be alone.” He turns to Scott for backup once he’s back on his feet. “Right? She wanted to be alone.” 

Scott’s eyes dart between Stiles and his dad before landing on Stiles. “I think she needs you, man.” 

“ _You_ ,” he says as he thrusts his pointed finger in Scott’s direction. “Are not helpful.” His dad calls after him to ask about whether or not they’ve called Melissa, but Stiles has already tuned out everything else as he eases the door to his room open and then closes it again behind him. Malia is bent over his desk, palms pressed against the surface, and her eyes are closed as she mimics the way he breathed on the other side of the door. And even though she growled at him when he tried to touch her the last time they thought she was in labor, he makes her way over to her and places a gentle hand on her back. “Hey,” he says as her eyes flutter open, flashing blue for a second before returning to their normal brown. “How’re you feeling?” 

Instead of offering an answer, she turns towards him before taking his face in her hands and pressing her mouth against his own. He’s caught off guard at first, but he manages to kiss her back. His hands find their way to rest against her pup bump where the baby seems to be demonstrating her own frustration over being evicted. Stiles can also feel the way the tight feeling that’s upsetting them both slowly begins to fade beneath his hands. 

When Malia finally pulls away, she’s winded, and her cheeks are flushed. “What was that for?” he asks her as he brushes her hair back behind her ear. 

“I think this is it,” she tells him with an edge of excitement in her voice. Stiles fills in the blank that the kiss was meant for comfort because this is it. 

“I think so, too,” he agrees as his stomach knots itself in a mess of nerves and excitement. 

“It hurts.” 

“I bet,” he says with a nervous laugh. He steals another quick kiss before he moves back to the closed door. He pokes his head into the hallway to find Scott still keeping guard in the hall. “You wanna call your mom?” he asks his best friend, watching as he immediately rushes to get to his feet. “It’s Go Time.” 

Scott nods as he goes for his phone, and Stiles turns away as he hears Malia suck in a quick breath behind him, finding her once again bracing herself against his desk. He quickly crosses the room back to her, feeling more excited than he should to see her in this much pain again so soon. 

But _holy shit_ , they’re _finally_ having a baby.

\----

Melissa is the first person Stiles calls but the last to arrive late that evening once her shift in the ER ends. After Allison arrives with enough 80’s music to last them weeks and Lydia follows with Derek and her yoga ball. After Liam texts Stiles back to let him know that he passed the message along to his dad and to keep him and Mason updated. After Lydia suggests Malia changes her clothes and Allison offers to redo the messy bun on top of Malia’s head. After Malia swats Derek’s hand away when she realizes he’s taking a little bit of her pain every time he touches her back or her shoulder. After Scott reassures Stiles twelve times that the pup’s heartbeat is a little faster than normal, but still nice and loud. 

Stiles’s dad says that Melissa arrives _in the nick of time_ as he eyes Stiles’s pacing from across the room, but even though Malia knows better now than to question who _Nick_ is and what he has to do with anything, she doesn’t understand why he says it when it still doesn’t feel like the baby is on her way. Stiles, on the other hand, stops dead in his tracks. 

“You’re not in scrubs,” he announces as panic radiates from every inch of his skin. “Malia’s in labor, and you’re not in scrubs.” 

Malia looks up from where she’s been bracing herself against the island for the next contraction to find that he’s right. In her sweats, Melissa looks more like she does at the kitchen table on Sunday morning, swapping parts of the paper with Stiles’s dad, than she does at the hospital, but Malia likes that. Her scrubs always smell of the hospital, like blood and death and fear, and it makes Malia’s skin crawl, the same way actually being there does. 

Melissa raises her eyebrows in Stiles’s direction, motioning towards his own sweats. “I figured we could both be comfortable,” she says. “I think we might be here for a while.” She pats Stiles’s shoulder before moving on to Malia. “How are you feeling?” She places her hand against the pup bump where the baby is still throwing a fit over that last wave of pain. 

“I’m fine,” Malia says without hesitating. Behind her, Stiles snorts, and her head immediately whips around to find him rubbing the back of his neck and staring down at his feet. She stops short of growling back at him, though, when Melissa’s arm wraps around her waist and begins leading her towards the stairs. 

“Great.” Melissa offers Malia a smile as she moves her hand away and waves towards the stairs.“How about we check on you and the baby?” she suggests, and Malia nods, letting her lead the way up to their bedroom with Stiles right on her heels. 

In his bedroom, Stiles’s scent of fear, nerves, and excitement, seems too strong for the small space, especially once he’s eased the door closed behind them. He doesn’t pace anymore, but his knee still bounces furiously where he stands beside their bed, and she would probably try to physically stop it if she wasn’t using both of her hands to undress. Melissa, on the other hand, smells comforting and calm as she sits down on the foot of their bed, folding one leg beneath her. “So what have I missed?” she asks, looking between the two of them. 

He jumps on the question first. “We’re at three minutes apart, but Scott says the baby’s heartbeat is faster than normal, and she had that bleeding last night.” 

Malia stops what she’s doing long enough to glare at him. Already, she’s lost track of the number of times she’s told him that the baby sounds fine to her - and the number of times she told him to stop asking Scott when she can still hear the baby just fine on her own. He also insisted on calling Melissa the night before when Malia told him about the bleeding, so he really doesn’t have to mention it again now. Scott told her once when she was still new to this whole human thing and far less patient that Stiles shows his love in worry, but at moments like this, she thinks she might not mind if he loved her a little less. But before she can speak up to remind Melissa - and Stiles - that she’s _fine_ , her middle begins to tighten with another contraction that quickly spreads around her body until it settles at the back of her spine. She bends over, pressing her palms against the mattress as her hips begin to move in a circle with no voluntary decision on her part and she bites down hard on her bottom lip. She hears Melissa’s voice, but she’s too focused on making it through this current wave of pain to catch more than the word _normal_. Her eyes stay closed, so she jumps in surprise when Stiles’s hand is suddenly on her lower back. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice gentle and just above a whisper. “Can I help?” 

Malia’s not sure what he means until his hands move to the waistband of her shorts, and she nods without opening her eyes. His hands on her hips and then the tops of her thighs spread goosebumps across her bare skin and leave her feeling vulnerable as she lets him undress her in front of Melissa. As soon as the contraction fades, she gently pushes his hands away and finishes undressing herself. 

Melissa starts with the baby once Malia has settled on their bed, listening to the fast cadence of her heartbeat before reassuring Stiles that everything sounds great. The news is less reassuring when she checks Malia’s own progress. 

“ _One_?” Malia immediately questions as she pushes herself up on her elbows to see Melissa over her swollen middle. “That’s _it_?” 

Melissa places a hand on her still raised knee, and Malia has to bite back another growl. “You’re making progress, and Baby’s handling it well. That’s what matters.” 

“Plus,” Stiles adds quickly from somewhere behind her. His hand settles between her shoulder blades in an attempt to help her sit up. He pulls his other hand away from hers to hold up his thumb and forefinger with a small distance between them. “That’s gotta be like that much, right?” Melissa opens her mouth to reply, then hesitates and closes it again. Stiles responds by pushing them just a little closer together. “Okay. This much?” Again, Melissa cocks her head to the side as she studies his hand without saying anything. With a sigh, Stiles pushes them a millimeter closer together. “ _This_ much?” 

Melissa hesitates for another second before she finally reaches over and pushes his fingers closer together until they look like they’re touching from Malia’s angle. “It’s more like that.” 

“Okay, I don’t even have a cervix, and _I’m_ dilated that much,” Stiles says. Malia feels her face grow warm with her own frustration. 

“It’s only been a few hours,” Melissa reminds them calmly. “The good news is she’s finally on her way, but it’s gonna take some time.” 

“How do we get it to take _less_ time?” Stiles asks. 

“Walking might help move her in the right direction. Gravity, too.” 

“Then we walk,” Malia immediately declares as she uses her elbows, and Stiles’s assistance once he realizes what she’s trying to do, to sit up all the way so she can swing her legs over the edge of the bed. 

“Walking it is,” Stiles agrees. 

And they do walk for what Stiles later labels a _small eternity_. They start with the same loop they’ve been walking around the neighborhood for weeks in an attempt to give Pup a head start. But Stiles eventually forces her back inside after a nosy neighbor watches them for just a little too long while she’s stuck in the throes of a contraction, and she growls before she thinks to stop herself.

It’s the stairs after that, as she stops every so often to hold on tightly to the banister and echo Stiles’s exaggerated breathing, first from beside her and then from his place at the bottom of the stairs after he becomes winded from the constant up and down. 

When the ache in her back becomes constant, she settles for laps around the first floor of the house, lingering a little longer each time in the living room where the pack has taken over. 

They become a welcomed distraction when the sun sets without a baby in their arms. It starts to feel almost like a party with the constant noise - their voices mixing together as Allison’s carefully selected playlist of Malia’s favorites plays in the background. At one point, Scott and Stiles belt out “We Built This City” together while she laughs her way through an entire contraction. At another, she sinks into Derek’s touch for thirty seconds before pushing his hand away when he tries to sneak some of her pain. Allison and Lydia make plans aloud now that there’s going to be a new _girl_ in the pack, and Stiles vetoes almost every one. A little later, after they’ve all fallen silent so Melissa can listen to the baby’s heartbeat a second time, his dad tells stories about the night Stiles was born, and then both he and Melissa tell stories from the night Scott was born because, they all learn for the first time, he had pulled her over for speeding while she was driving herself to the hospital. If it weren’t for the way Malia has to stop and concentrate on not making any sound while her muscles pull tight around the baby, it would feel like a normal Sunday night pack meeting temporarily moved from the loft to the Stilinski living room. 

“You want this?” Stiles asks her when she walks past him at one point from where he’s balancing on Lydia’s yoga ball and rotating his hips in slow circles. “It’s supposed to help your hips stay open so she can come down.” He pauses for a second, head cocked to the side, as he continues to move with that same rhythm. “It feels nice.” 

“ _Dude_ ,” Scott says before Malia has the chance to respond. “You know way too much about this.” 

“Scotty, I just care about my girls. You should take notes,” Stiles responds. The room gives a collective groan while he ignores them and turns his attention back to her. “Wanna give it a try?” Malia shakes her head. “What about sitting down on the couch? Or laying down? We could try to get some sleep?” 

“I don’t want to sit down.” Her voice borders on a whine, but it’s almost midnight, meaning it’s been almost seven hours since he found her upstairs in their room. She’s hot, even though Stiles moved the fan from their room downstairs an hour ago, and she’s starting to feel tired, and the pup has settled even lower down in her hips, making her feel like she can’t close her legs. She hasn’t been off her feet since Melissa suggested walking and gravity could help the pup come sooner, and she doesn’t plan to sit down again until there’s a baby. 

But Stiles is relentless. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?” he asks, and she shakes her head to both. “Want the guys to take the edge off? Or Melissa could check you again?” 

“ _Stiles_ -” she starts, but then stops suddenly when everything grows tight around the pup again with no warning. She sucks in her breath in a sharp gasp that catches everyone’s attention, but she tries to ignore it as she closes her eyes, leaning forward so her hands are pressed to the back of the couch. Before she’s turned her entire focus to the pain, there’s suddenly a crash. Her eyes fly open to find Stiles flat on his back, groaning as the yoga ball rolls until it bumps the wall. Despite the contraction, she finds herself laughing at his expense while the rest of the room, and eventually even Stiles, joins in. 

“Turns out, it’s harder than it looks to stay on that thing,” he half-groans as he finally gets to his feet. And then he’s by her side, resting his hand against her belly. “You okay?” he asks gently, his voice low like he knows she doesn’t want the rest of the room to hear. “That came fast.” 

Malia nods as she continues to breathe through the pain. She doesn’t let herself cling to him like a less animalistic part of her wants to, but she does let herself place her hand over his, twining their fingers together. 

“She seems unhappy,” he says in that same soft tone when the pup lands a flurry of kicks against his palm. 

“She doesn’t like this,” Malia manages to say as the tightness finally begins to wane. “She seems scared.” 

With the pain gone, she turns to face him, closing her eyes when he leans forward to press a kiss against her forehead, then her cheek. He lingers for just a second by her ear, whispering, “You’re awesome.” It’s not the first time he’s praised her that night, but it still makes her feel warm, in a good way, unlike the August heat outside. It somehow makes her feel better about the fact that she still has nothing to show for the minimal progress she’s made. 

A second later, he pulls back, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What do you want to do?” 

“Walk.” 

“Okay. Then we walk.” 

\----

Just after four in the morning, exhaustion starts to kick Stiles’s ass. _Hard_. It leaves him leaning heavily against the wall outside the bathroom and yawning until his eyes water as he tries not to think too hard about how it must feel to be Malia, who’s on the verge of entering Hour 12 of labor. Instead, he tries to focus the little energy he has on how he kind of hates Scott who was passed out on the loveseat the last time he checked. And Lydia, who’s probably still curled up in his dad’s recliner. Derek who passed out at her feet, Allison who took refuge in her sleeping bag right after Malia finally closed her own eyes, and his dad who is upstairs, still enjoying the comforts of his own freaking bed. But even kind of hating everyone else takes more energy than Stiles currently has, and he gives up. 

Instead, he yawns until his eyes water and gently rolls his neck until a sharp ache reminds him it wasn’t smart to close his eyes for just a minute on the couch. He ended up cramming an hour or two of sleep in between the laps around the living room and Malia’s current attempt at the record for longest bathroom break, but only after Malia had literally melted into his lap and fallen asleep first. And it didn’t last long. Not after her innocent attempt to get comfortable startled him awake in enough time to hear her murmur sleepily that the contractions had stopped. In fact there was a lot of panic after that, a lot of shout-whispering to wake up Scott, and a lot of questioning Melissa after Scott’s reassurance that the pup still sounded good wasn’t enough for Stiles. 

Even after Melissa listened to the baby’s heartbeat, Stiles couldn’t shake off the aftershock of his near anxiety attack. He ended up awake keeping a hand constantly pressed to Malia’s swollen middle so he wouldn’t miss it if the contractions started again and occasionally pushing against tiny pup limbs until she pushed back or Malia swatted his hand away in her sleep. For more than an hour, he had wracked his brain for ways to convince his stubborn girlfriend that stalled labor _unfortunately_ meant a trip to the hospital. But by the time she actually woke up, exhaustion was starting to kick his ass. And now he’s barely awake enough to keep his eyes open while Malia’s… 

Stiles wakes up again with a start and all of the sudden guilt of a driver asleep at the wheel. His head hits the wall with a resounding _thud_ that leaves behind a dull throbbing, and his arms immediately scramble to catch the ghost of Malia’s weight and steady her in his lap before he remembers that he’s standing outside the bathroom and she’s on the other side of the door. He’s left with a racing heart and somehow more exhaustion than before. Rubbing a hand over his face, he leans closer to the closed bathroom door to make sure he didn’t startle Malia. But the only sound is a song by The Cars playing down the hall. 

He has no idea what time it even is, or how long he’s been waiting like this, but he’s not about to fall asleep out here in the hallway. So, hesitantly, he taps twice on the door with the back of his fist. He’s answered by silence. 

“Hey, Mal?” he tries instead. “You okay?”

More silence. 

“You didn’t fall asleep, did you?” 

When he’s met with more quiet, his foot starts to bounce just a little. “You’re not having a baby in there, right?” 

On the other side of the door, there’s suddenly a moan. It’s so soft, he thinks he just imagined it at first, but then she does it again, louder, and he’s pretty sure his heart literally stops. 

“ _Shit_.” 

His hand flies to the doorknob and yanks the door open. Malia is just inside the door bracing herself against the sink. Her knuckles are white enough to blend into the porcelain, and he can hear her loud, erratic breathing from the doorway.

“Mal?” he asks tentatively, and she responds by lifting her head. In the mirror, her eyes shine a bright blue. “Oh god. Okay. It’s okay.” He moves quickly, almost on autopilot, as he steps into the room, hands first on her hips to guide her away from the sink, and then on her shoulders, forcing her to sit down on the closed lid of the toilet. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

She shakes her head without opening her eyes. “I couldn’t.” 

“When did you start shifting?” 

“Right now.” Her voice breaks with a moan that quickly morphs into a growl he can feel in his own chest. 

He drops down to his knees in front of her and tries to fight through the fog of exhaustion in his brain to figure out what to say. This shouldn’t _really_ be news. Deaton told them back when Malia was barely pregnant that this level of pain and anxiety would most likely make her lose control. But when they made it through the first 11 hours without any signs of a shift, Stiles had stupidly decided they were in the clear. Luckily for him, it’s short-lived this time. She manages to take two deep breaths, and her shaking stops. Her hand rests low on her belly where he can only guess the pup is now taking up space, and for nearly thirty seconds, she’s so peaceful, he starts to wonder if maybe she’s falling asleep on the job, too. Then her eyes shoot open and she scoots forward more quickly than she should be able to after a full night of this. 

“Whoa. Slow down.” He moves both hands to her thighs in an attempt to physically stop her. “Would it kill you to take five seconds to catch your breath?”

“I can’t sit down,” she argues with another shake of her head. 

“Just relax, okay?” 

“But it feels like I’m on her head.” 

Stiles freezes. Instinctively, he looks down between her shorts-clad thighs like there might be some sign of the baby there, then back up at her. “Seriously?” he asks, trying to ignore the furious cadence his heart has settled into again. 

“Not literally,” she sighs with a tired roll of her eyes. “She’s just _really_ low.” She scoots forward a second time so she’s balancing on the edge of her makeshift seat, then pats the back of his hand as she sighs tiredly again. “Stop panicking.” 

He sighs right back. “I’m trying. But you just said you’re sitting on her _head_.” 

“That’s not what I said,” she argues, and her eyes flash blue in a way he’s not expecting. “There’s just a lot of pressure.” 

“Yeah?” he asks tentatively, and she nods. “Maybe Melissa should check you again.” 

The glare she gives him in return tells him he said the wrong thing before she actually says a word. “Maybe Melissa should stick her hand up your - “ 

“Okay, okay,” he cuts her off before she can finish the thought. “No Melissa.” He smirks to himself as he brushes her hair back behind her ear. It’s kind of a relief to hear her be a smartass. “Pretty sure that’s the _last_ thing Melissa wants to do.”

Stiles’s humor, though, is unfortunately lost on Malia when she suddenly tenses before him and curls forward over her swollen middle. She cries out and he jumps in surprise, then gives a yelp of his own when her claws begin to dig into the back of his hand. “Another one? _Already_?” he asks through gritted teeth as he resists the urge to yank his hand away. She manages a quick nod without opening her eyes or lifting her head. Judging from the claws now attached to his hand, the pain is forcing her out of her human form on top of the general discomfort. To say it seems pretty shifty would be a total understatement at the moment. “Okay, you got this,” he says instead. “Just focus on my voice. I’m right here.” 

For the first ten seconds, it seems to be working. She’s still tense, but her breathing almost falls into the same pattern as his, and he can feel himself start to relax. And then Malia shoots up from her seat. “I can’t,” she insists with a shake of her head as she leans forward to brace herself against the wall. “I can’t.” 

“Whoa. Hey, it’s okay, Mal.” Stiles scrambles to his feet. He gently peels her hand away from the wall as he rises to make room for his shoulders, and immediately, her arms wrap around his neck instead, her bump pressed against his front. It’s not the reaction he’s expecting from her. For hours, he’s watched her stoically walk laps around the living room and refuse the little help he’s been able to offer. It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell her that there’s no choice _but_ to do this, but luckily, he catches himself. He’s also tempted to point out that they could leave for the hospital, but that idea has lost some of its shine even for him after watching her work her way through the past 12 hours. “You can do this,” he tries, hoping he sounds more encouraging than he feels.” You’re already doing it.” 

“ _No_ ,” she half moans against his chest. “I can’t sit down anymore.” 

Stiles laughs before pressing a kiss to the top of her head, mumbling against her hair. “Okay. No more sitting.” 

“And I’m not going back out there,” she says as the contraction finally ends, leaving her a little breathless and shaking in his arms. “I’ll wake them up.” 

“Okay. Then c’mere.” 

He takes her hand before leading her back through the maze of sleeping bodies in the living room to the back of the house. He stops once in the kitchen when she says his name in an urgent half whisper, half hiss, and he turns around to find her leaning against the island as she rocks her hips back and forth. And then he slides the back door open and steps out onto the deck. The heat wave still hasn’t broken, the air thick and heavy around them, but Malia doesn’t seem to notice at all as she heads straight for the backyard. Stiles, on the other hand, makes it as far as the stairs before his knees give out and he half sinks, half collapses on the wooden stair. 

“Hey Mal?” he manages around a yawn that encompasses his entire body. “Just give me a minute.” 

Malia barely turns her head to look back at him as she heads farther into the yard. “You should go sleep.” 

Stiles makes a face in response. “I’m getting a second wind, okay?” Even as he says it, his upper body slowly melts until his cheek is pressed against the wooden railing, eyes blinking slowly as she continues to the middle of the yard. “Tell me when you have another contraction,” he mumbles sleepily without lifting his head. “Should probably time them again. Make sure they don’t stop.” 

Eventually, she turns and begins what promises to be the first of a thousand and two laps around the back hard, and Stiles just barely suppresses his groan. No one ever told them that labor sucks. _A lot_. The book left out the part where it starts to feel like running a marathon while stuck in place. Melissa and his dad might’ve hinted at how hard it was, but they never came out and said, _It makes a root canal seem like a vacation_. 

And this? This sucks. 

Unfortunately, Stiles must drift off again because his next coherent thought comes as he smacks his head against the railing in his scrambling to sit up. 

“Stiles?” she says with a calculated urgency, and it occurs to him that he has no idea how many times she might have said his name while he was passed out. 

“I got it. I got it.” His fingers fumble with his phone as he unlocks it, then stares at the screen for a full thirty seconds before remembering what he’s supposed to do. He finally finds the app and begins recording this latest contraction as she suddenly makes a low, pain-filled sound. Glancing up from his phone, he finds her doubled over, hands bracing her knees, and suddenly, his own chest aches. “ _Shit_ ,” he mutters as he forgets the phone on the stairs and jogs the few feet to where she’s ended up. “Mal, tell me what you need. Tell me what I can do.” 

Before he can get close enough to touch her, she straightens up again and raises her hand in a silent signal to stop. “I’m okay,” she insists. But her eyelids are heavy under the weight of the sleep she didn’t get. Her breathing comes in soft gasps, and tiny beads of sweat have formed on her upper lip. He’s watched her take a bullet - more than one - dig out glass from deep wounds, remain still as Scott or Derek yanks free claws or talons left behind by the monster of the week. They didn’t realize she was immune to numbing agents until Melissa was halfway through giving her stitches that first time. And yet, he’s never seen her like this - in pain, worn down, exhausted. Completely and utterly human. 

Tentatively, he reaches out his hand to squeeze her shoulder. When she doesn’t flinch away, he lets his hand run up and down her arm. “You sure you don’t need anything? Water? Want to sit down?” She shakes his head at each of his offers as her breathing finally evens out. “You feeling shifty?” 

“Not right now.” Malia takes a deep breath, and he watches as it moves through her whole body. Her hands move to cradle her swollen middle, one where it starts right below her ribs and one where it stops just above her hips. Her gaze changes as her eyes fall to rest there, something warm and loving even in the midst of the war she’s waging. “She really hates this.” 

Stiles scoffs as he reaches out with his other hand to rest it on the bump in between her own. “Makes two of us.” 

“Three,” she corrects with a look that borders on a glare. 

He grimaces and gives her arm another squeeze. “Are you sure I can’t do _anything_?”

The sky is beginning to turn grey by the time he _finally_ finds something he can do that isn’t following her around the backyard like a goddamn puppy. She’s midway through a contraction when her moan becomes a more guttural growl, and he can almost sense her panic when she lifts her head, eyes bright blue. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he tries gently as she takes a fistfull of his collar. “C’mon. Just like before.” But it’s not like before, back in the bathroom when it was over before he could think of a solution. This time, she snarls and twists her hand, pulling his shirt tighter around his neck. He chokes, hand flying to her wrist. Using his full strength, he pulls her hand away just enough to manage to talk. “Mal, it’s me! It’s okay!” 

Her eyes suddenly revert to their normal brown, wide as she stumbles one step backwards. “I didn’t -” 

“I know. It’s fine.” He takes a shaky breath and rubs his hand against his irritated skin where his collar dug in. “Is it you or her?” 

She closes her eyes for a few seconds before giving a furious shake of her head. “I don’t know. I can’t tell.” 

Malia doubles over again with a moan that quickly becomes a growl, and Stiles winces in sympathy. 12 hours of labor should’ve been torturous enough without her having to fight with herself like this. But he doesn’t let himself stop to think about how much harder this just got. “Okay. Let’s try to figure it out,” he offers instead as he steps closer, despite his better judgement. 

His first thought is to sit her down on the stairs, but then he remembers her declaration to not sit anymore, and he stops short. The middle of the backyard will have to do. She straightens to find him right there, and she immediately takes a step back, but Stiles follows, taking her face in his hands. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m right here. Just try to breathe.” Malia trembles in his arms. Her inhales end in growls and snarls. It’s not long before he can feel claws digging into his elbows where she has a death grip. But he stays right there, taking deep, even breaths until hers fall into the same pattern. 

When it finally passes, she collapses against him, sweaty and worn out. He feels the way she looks. Still, she pulls away in record time, gently pushing his chest. “You should go. Back inside. Try to sleep.” 

“Uh-uh. No way.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah? I feel great too. Super rested. Who needs sleep, am I right?” Hand on his hip, he tries to stand his ground, but it involves some crazy tensing of literally every muscle in his jaw to keep from yawning, and he still caves eventually. “Okay. So I’m a little tired. But I’m not gonna leave you here so I can go sleep.” 

“But what if I hurt you?” She looks smaller than she did before, less sure of herself than she seemed for the first few hours when she could still talk through the pain. He wants to pull her into his arms and find a way to take that pain. Or maybe just make Derek suffer through it instead. 

“You’re not going to,” he tells her, sounding more confident than he feels. “You stopped, right?” He slides an arm back around her waist. Malia hesitates for a second longer than he expects before finally nodding in agreement. “See? We got this.” 

The next contraction, he’s a little more prepared for the shift. The one after that, he counts on it happening. 

Before they know it, they’ve moved onto Hour 13.   
\----

By the start of Day 2, Stiles is doused in his impending panic. Melissa offers sympathetic hand squeezes when she promises this is normal for first babies. And Malia finally starts to see the pack as a distraction again. 

The rising sun brings back all of the heavy heat California has been trapped in for weeks, and Malia can’t stand it. She resists it for as long as she can, knowing there’s an audience waiting for her inside, but it’s _hot_. And inside, there’s the cool rush of the window unit in the living room and the familiar scent of coffee, and the decision to go back in seems obvious. 

“Oh my god. You guys are the best,” Stiles gushes as he dives for the coffee carrier still in Mason’s hands when Stiles has just barely set foot in the kitchen. He presses a kiss to both Mason and a dumbfounded - and staring - Liam’s cheek. “I won’t even judge you for this whole postcoital glow thing you’ve got going on right now.” 

“Someone else might know a thing or two about _postcoital glow_ ,” Lydia challenges as she sidles into the kitchen, hair still in a messy bun and Derek’s old BHHS basketball sweatshirt hanging halfway to her knees. She nods in Malia’s direction. Liam smells overwhelmingly of anger and shame. But Malia is too busy reaching for the second cup of coffee in Stiles’s hands to notice. 

Unfortunately for her, he pivots to face the redhead instead. 

“Lydia, you mind? First of all, we’ve been over this. I created _life_ , okay? And second of all, my dad shouldn’t have to hear this,” Stiles says with a wave of his hand towards the kitchen table. Malia follows his hand to where both his dad and Melissa are sitting. 

“Your dad is pretending he’s not here. For any of this,” his dad responds without looking up from the morning paper. 

Mason, ever the peacemaker, clears his throat gently and holds up the tray of coffee as an offering. “We thought everyone could probably use some caffeine.” 

“We thought she’d be _here_ by now,” Liam almost sighs, eyes glued to Malia’s swollen middle. 

“So did we,” both she and Stiles deadpan in perfect unison. 

“Plus we didn’t - we don’t -” 

“You smell like sex,” Malia interrupts as she tries to grab one of those coffee cups away from Stiles, but Stiles is too busy laughing to notice her reaching. 

Mason blushes now, too, as he holds up the coffee carrier again with a little less confidence. Liam keeps staring at Malia in a way that’s becoming hard to ignore. “So, uh, it’s like really happening?” he asks, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Like right now?” 

“Like _now_ now?” Stiles asks incredulously. “In the _middle of the kitchen_?” 

“I mean - I don’t-” 

“Well, you definitely don’t want to get too close, ‘cause, I mean, who knows?”

Malia seizes her opportunity - and Stiles’s shoulder - while he’s distracted with Liam. Pressing down hard with her palm, she can just reach that top cup… 

“Whoa! Hold up!” Stiles catches her wrist as her fingers curl around the cup. “If you drink this, we’re all going to be seeing it again in a few hours.” 

Before she can stop herself, Malia curls her lip back in a snarl, and a growl rumbles low in her chest. But her efforts are forgotten almost as quickly when another contraction starts. She gasps softly as her hand grabs the edge of the counter instead. She closes her eyes and bites her bottom lip to try to keep from making a sound. She takes note of every single one of her surroundings to try to keep her human. 

The sound of Stiles quickly setting the coffee down. The smell of the hot liquid when it spills on the counter. The rustle of the paper behind her. The music still playing in the living room when everyone stops talking all at once. The collective weight of their stares, all of them, just watching her. It makes the heat outside not seem so bad until Stiles’s voice is right in her ear reminding her that she’s okay and it’s almost over and he’s right there. 

And when she opens her eyes again, she’s not met with their pity. Liam’s still staring wide-eyed in her direction, but Scott and Allison are still nowhere to be found, and Lydia is busy claiming a cup of coffee for Derek. Stiles’s arm circles Malia’s waist as he pulls her close, gesturing between Mason and Liam. “Listen, learn from my mistakes. This,” he emphasizes with a hand pressed to her bump, “is why you just keep sleeping with each other.” 

In the next room, Scott’s laughter rings out, and maybe having the pack here isn’t terrible. 

But everything else is. After stalling while she was asleep, her contractions can’t find a normal rhythm again. Stiles’s list of times starts to look like a secret message no one knows how to decode, and there’s never any warning when the next one is coming. They’re slower and weaker when she’s not on her feet, so she stops letting herself sit down. Derek and Scott start taking the edge off her pain pretty regularly, and she sinks into their touch instead of swatting their hands away. She finally figures out the yoga ball when her arms start to shake from being on her hands and knees for too long, and she ends up falling asleep with her cheek pressed to the hard rubber instead. 

And when it’s been a full 24 hours since they decided it was _Go Time_ and Melissa checks her to find she’s still not even halfway to being done, both Stiles and Malia demand she check her again before Malia bursts into tears. 

_Hospital_ becomes Stiles’s favorite word after they hit that 24-hour mark. Whispered to Scott when he comes up to take away some of her pain. Hinted at when Melissa interrupts them to listen to the pup’s heartbeat. Phrased as a question more brazenly when it’s just the two of them alone. And it becomes the word that made her force him from the room with a flash of her eyes 20 minutes ago when he started to head for a full-blown panic attack. 

Because after 24 hours, she’s _not_ going to the hospital. 

Unfortunately for her, not even Ryan Adams’ voice crooning from the dock in the corner can drown out his panic rising from downstairs. 

_What she needs is a **hospital**. As in doctors. Lots of doctors. And drugs. Lots of drugs. Preferably some for me. _

_But she’s fine, Stiles. The baby sounds good, too. And my mom said she could try -_

_No, Scott. **No**. No way we’re trying that, unless we’re calling 911 first. _

_Hey, between your dad and Scott’s mom, it’s kind of like you already have 911 here._

_Liam -_

_That’s literally the stupidest thing you’ve ever said._

_But I mean -_

_Liam, just stop, okay?_

_Why are you even here?_

_Because… I’m part of the pack?_

_Everyone’s just trying to help, Stiles._

_You wanna help? Then convince her we need to go to the hospital. **Now**_

Malia’s growl drowns out whatever Scott says next. Most of what’s been said doesn’t register as she rocks forward on her knees and lowers her head towards the floor. The growl quickly becomes a reaction to the feeling of another sudden contraction. It takes her breath away and then brings it back to her as another low growl through gritted teeth as she rocks back and forth on her hands and knees. (Much to Stiles’s chagrin, she’s sworn off the bed for now, too.) She gives into the pain, making a sound that borders on a whimper, until the hands on her back remind her she’s not alone, and she stops. 

“It’s okay,” Lydia says from somewhere behind her line of sight. “It’s almost over.” 

Malia growls a third time because there’s no human word that describes how _sick and tired_ she is of being told this is almost over. She’s exhausted and sweating through her clothes, and with Stiles in the middle of a tirade downstairs, she just wants to be left alone. At least, she _thinks_ she just wants to be left alone until Lydia presses down harder on Malia’s lower back, turning her growl into more of a moan that almost borders on appreciation. Melissa showed everyone where to push on Malia’s hips and back earlier that morning. Scott does it best, applying pressure in a way no one else does because they’re afraid to hurt her. Stiles is the gentlest, pressing kisses to her shoulders and the back of her neck, or whispering in her ear about how much longer she has to go. And Derek isn’t allowed to do it anymore because she figured out he was stealing some of her pain every time he let his hand graze her back. 

Lydia’s hands are a little rougher than Stiles’s but nowhere near Scott’s. Still, it provides a sense of relief until the pain suddenly becomes more intense than it has so far. Inside her, the pup makes her unhappiness known by landing a series of kicks just below Malia’s belly button (a definite change from a few days ago when it felt like her tiny pup feet were hooked on Malia’s ribs). Malia’s forearms shake as the world flashes in technicolor and then right back to normal. “Stiles,” she somehow manages through the pain, his name sounding more like a growl. 

“I’m right here. I’m right here.” 

She doesn’t open her eyes at the sound of his voice, but his signature scent of fear and anxiety surround her as her muscles finally begin to relax. Then his hand is on her shoulder, the other gently cupping her chin and tipping her head up so she has no choice but to open her eyes. “Almost over. You’re doing so good, Mal.” 

_Make her leave_ , she mouths back as the contraction finally eases up, and her rocking starts to slow. He looks confused until his eyes fall on Lydia behind her. He gives Malia a quick nod before focusing his attention behind her instead.

“Thanks, Lyds. I think I can take it from here.” 

She doesn’t move until Lydia leaves the room, squeezing Stiles’s shoulder on the way. As soon as they’re alone, Malia slumps forward, and Stiles’s hands fly out to catch her arms. She tries to catch her breath again before finally lifting her head. “No hospital.” 

Stiles swallows hard before finally nodding. “Okay. No hospital.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Malia, you’re _not_ fine.” She bares her teeth in a soundless growl, too exhausted to put forth any more effort, but it doesn’t stop him. “It’s been over 24 hours, and Pup’s still going for the slowest slow build of all time. No one expects you to be fine.”

“But I am,” she insists a second time, and he sighs back in a way that makes her stomach churn with guilt. 

“ _Okay_. No one’s making you go to the hospital.” He swallows hard a second time as he brushes the hair that’s fallen out of her bun back behind her ear. His scent of fear grows stronger, and her stomach churns a little harder, but she’s too busy trying to conserve her energy for the next contraction to try to calm him down. Instead, she gives her shaky forearms a break and leans forward to wrap her arms around his neck instead. Stiles immediately begins to rub her back, and she forgives him for… She can’t even remember why she made him leave now. 

After that, she lets the pack stay downstairs. 

\----

The first night feels like a slumber party, with its Stevie Nicks sing-a-longs and its shared childhood stories and the way they all claimed space in the living room, sleeping draped over armchairs and curled up on the floor. The second night feels like deja vu from a nightmare. 

Things pick up for a while. Malia gets quieter, stops laughing at his jokes, starts finding quiet corners of rooms when the pain is at its worst, like maybe she really would go for a box under the stairs if he had let her. She tries a bath and then a shower instead when she doesn’t like being stuck in the same place. She won’t let the pack come upstairs, but Melissa comes to check in more frequently. The first time Stiles suggests that Scott could take her pain and Malia doesn’t argue, he’s so shocked that he forgets to ask Scott to come up. He loses track of how many times he follows her up and down the stairs, how many times he rubs the small of her back, how many times he silently prays to a God he’s not sure he totally believes in to make this _just end already_. 

Eventually, they’re holed up in his room for the final stretch and he can’t stop thinking that it’s going to happen _there_. He stares at his own bed for five minutes like an idiot but it’s suddenly so _real_. And compared to the first 24 hours, it’s happening so _fast_. And… and then it stops. 

Not the pain. No, it’s worse than that. When her contractions finally fall back into a regular pattern, they’re almost on top of each other. But none of them _do_ anything. In the middle of the afternoon, Melissa had told them that they would have a baby by midnight, but at midnight, Malia hasn’t made any progress for three whole hours. Instead, she’s exhausted and sore and beginning to shift more frequently, sometimes because of the pain and sometimes because after 30 hours of this, the baby isn’t handling it all so well. And that’s a little terrifying. 

Just after midnight, all three of them finally reach their limit. Malia is on her hands and knees in the middle of the bed, resting her chin on Stiles’s shoulder when she starts to drift off in between contractions. Stiles is pretty sure he’s about to join her, too, when she pulls away so quickly, the top of her head hits his chin, and his head snaps back. 

“Oh shit,” he groans as his hand flies up to his chin. Pain blooms beneath his hand, and his vision begins to fill with stars. “Malia -” 

“Something’s wrong,” she interrupts. 

Stiles’s pain is forgotten as the hand cradling his chin immediately falls to rest on her shoulder. “What kind of wrong?” 

“I don’t know. Her heart’s too slow.”

“Well, is she moving?” 

“She won’t _stop_ ,” Malia moans. Resting back on her knees, she presses a hand low on her belly where Stiles can only assume the baby is now. Out of habit, he presses his own hand beside hers. His own heart slows a little when he can feel the activity inside. 

“Okay, well that’s good, right? Melissa said -” 

Malia cuts him off again, this time with a whimper as she squares her shoulders and falls back onto her hands on the bed. Her eyes are closed again, but she shakes her head furiously. “It’s happening again. Stiles, something’s _wrong_.” 

“Okay. It’s okay.” The sureness in her voice turns his stomach, but Stiles ignores it as he leans towards the door without taking his hands off Malia. “Hey, Melissa!?”

Stiles ends up holding his breath for the entire two contractions Melissa keeps the doppler pressed to Malia’s belly, but he’s able to breathe freely when she assures them that the baby is fine. “This is hard work for her, too,” Melissa explains. “She’s starting to get tired. So we might want to try to help her along.” 

Helping her along ends up meaning they have options. Malia vetoes the first one when Melissa suggests breaking her water, and Stiles bites down hard enough on his tongue to draw blood. He helps her across the hall to the bathroom when Melissa suggests that, too, but it only changes the scenery. Eating and drinking don’t make a difference either when Malia only manages half a banana before she vomits. Which leaves only the least likely option: sleep. 

Malia curls up in a ball on the bed once there’s nothing left for her body to force back up, and Stiles lays down next to her once he stops gagging, too. “You good?” he asks as he brings his hand to rest on her side, closing the space between them. “Comfortable?” 

Instead of a verbal answer, he’s met with a glare. 

“Right. Stupid question.” Her eyes drift shut again, and her breathing starts to even out. But it’s not even half a minute before her belly grows hard beneath his hand and her own body grows tense. And as she moans her way through it, he feels like that same idiot staring at his bed again. (At least he learned his lesson from earlier when he had suggested that _Maybe the neighbors don’t need to hear you_ and earned a growl in response). “C’mon, Mal,” he tries gently instead. “Try to breathe through it. Try to relax.” 

“ _You_ relax,” she fires back through clenched teeth. 

Stiles scoffs. “Yeah. Okay. Why don’t I just go downstairs -” 

Her hand shoots out to grab his wrist in a silent rebuttal. He answers by scooting a little closer so his front brushes against her bump. There’s another full minute of peace when her breathing starts to even and his eyelids start to grow heavy, and then he’s yanked back to the gravity of this situation when she cries out again. “What can I do?” he asks this time when all he can think to do is keep his hand pressed to her bump. “I wanna do something to help.” 

“I don’t know.” Malia’s hand becomes a fist against his front, claws scratching his chest as she takes a handful of his shirt. “I need her _out_.” 

“I know, I know. Maybe we should - “ 

“ _No_.” 

“No what?” 

“No hospital.” 

“I know,” he sighs. Her body starts to relax again, and he leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “No hospital.” The hospital would do something, he thinks. There would have to be _something_ they could do to end all of this. But after 30 hours of labor, he also know she’s earned this. Pressing his lips to her forehead again, he half-smiles to himself. “There’s an epidural at the hospital.” And that’s when it clicks. “Oh my God.” He untangles himself from her to sit up, hands blindly searching the bed for where he left his phone. “An epidural.” 

“No, Stiles,” she half whines, but another contraction is starting, and her voice turns into a whimper instead. He reaches back blindly to take her hand while he uses the other one to text Scott, _We need you_. 

“It’s okay. I’m right here.” His eyes stay locked on the screen of his phone. Then he listens for footsteps on the stairs. But the screen on his phone goes black, and when Malia’s contraction ends, there’s only silence. So Stiles resorts to a flurry of texts: 

_Dude. C’mon._

_This is 911._

_Shit. Not really. Don’t tell your mom that._

_But stop being an asshole and get up here._

When another contraction starts and he still hasn’t heard back from Scott, he switches over to the pack group message instead, keeping one hand in Malia’s as he uses the other to type, _Can someone tell Scott to check his fucking phone_. 

_Are you gonna kiss your baby with that mouth?_ Lydia responds almost immediately, and if he couldn’t already hear footsteps on the stairs, he might literally kill her. 

He turns his attention back to Malia instead, pressing his hands to her lower back in the way Melissa showed him literally _yesterday_. “It’s okay. Scott’s gonna help.” As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door and then a creak as the door is pushed open slowly. “Hey. Do me a favor?” Stiles asks without looking away from Malia. “When you go back downstairs, tell Lydia to go fuck herself?” 

Just as Malia’s body relaxes beneath his hands, Stiles looks up, ready to tell Scott his plan. But he suddenly finds himself staring back at Derek. 

“Oh _shit_.” 

“Lydia shouldn’t have said that,” Derek says. He hovers in the threshold of the door, arms crossed over his chest. 

“No. I shouldn’t’ve - I thought you were Scott.” Stiles’s exhausted brain doesn’t get it. He blinks repeatedly to make sure Derek doesn’t suddenly morph into Scott, but no luck. “Where’s Scott?” 

“Asleep. But I figured you -” Derek’s voice trails off as his gaze drifts over to Malia. Stiles spins back around in time to see her just begin to tense, folding in on herself. Her hand grabs a fistful of the sheet beneath her as she cries out, either unaware or unaffected by her audience. It lasts a full minute before she begins to relax again and Stiles can stop repeating the three phrases he’s stuck to all night: _It’s okay. I’m right here. You’re doing so good._

Once he’s sure it’s over, Stiles turns his attention back to Derek. “We need you to work your little wolfy magic.” 

Derek raises an eyebrow, arms still crossed in the threshold. 

Stiles sighs. “She’s stuck. I mean, stalled. She’s stalled. _Malia’s_ stalled. And if she was in a hospital room like a normal person, they’d give her an epidural so she could sleep, but we’re here, and if you just take her pain for a few minutes -” 

“ - It’ll last long enough for her to fall asleep,” Derek finishes. “Okay.” 

“Oh my god. You’re the best,” Stiles gushes as Derek already starts for the other side of the bed, closer to Malia. “I swear, if we hadn’t picked out a name already, we’d name her after you.” 

Derek ignores Stiles as he stops beside Malia, crouching down. Her eyes are still closed, and her breathing has evened out again like she might’ve fallen back asleep. It seems more likely when Derek brushes his hand against her back, and she doesn’t’ even stir. “Hey, Malia?” he tries gently, and Malia gives a soft moan in response. “I’m gonna try to take the edge off, okay?” 

Malia’s eyes open almost immediately. “ _No_ ,” she moans. “ ‘m fine.” She pushes herself up to a sitting position faster than he expected at this point in her labor. Stiles is caught off guard as he ends up bracing his hand on her shoulder. 

“Whoa. Hey. Malia, it’s okay.” 

“No,” she argues again with a shake of her head. “I’m fine. I don’t need -” She trails off, bleary-eyed and disoriented, until she’s just staring at him in a way that breaks his heart. 

Gently, he takes her face in his hands. “Mal, you need to sleep.” She starts to shake her head, but Stiles presses his palms a little more firmly against her cheeks. “Mal, you’re gonna need energy to get her out. And if you relax, things might start again.” 

The way Malia stares at him, he’s not convinced she hears a single word of what he's saying. But she still shakes her head with a moan, which he thinks might be the only sound she can think to make in the moment. 

“Okay, look Mal,” he tries again as he lets go of her. “Look. I'm laying down,” he says as he slides down the bed until he's laying there. “I'm gonna sleep. Just let Derek help so you can sleep, too.” 

There's a moment of indecision when she looks like she might burst into tears, but then she finally relents instead. She lays down beside him, lets him wrap an arm around her. And when Derek tries to take her pain again, she's already reaching out for her cousin’s hand. Stiles watches as she begins to relax, her body sinking into the bed as her eyes close. Eventually, her breathing evens out, and that's when Stiles realizes he's been holding his. 

Stiles forgets Derek is even there until he's pushing himself back up to his feet. He didn't make a sound, even though he kept his hand on Malia’s until the dark lines disappeared completely, but he's sweating and pale and just a little unsteady on his feet. Stiles is reminded of the look Scott gave him hours ago when he was just taking enough of it for Malia to not notice, mouthing _Dude. You owe her_ over Malia’s head. Stiles can’t say he feels great about knowing he’s partially responsible. 

“Hey, thanks, man,” Stiles says without moving from the bed, just in case Malia wakes up sooner than he's planning for. “Seriously. We owe you.”

“Just don't go too far,” Derek replies without looking away from Malia. “It feels… Different now.” A nervous knot forms in Stiles stomach in between the butterflies, but he tries to feign confidence as he nods. “And maybe try to get some sleep, too. You're gonna need it.”

Stiles makes a face at Derek’s back as he moves out of the room. Like he’s about to fall asleep. His mind is still racing with the fear that her labor will still be stalled when she wakes up and the fear that it won’t be stalled and the baby will really be coming and the fear that he’s about to be someone’s _dad_. But he underestimates just how hard it is to stay awake for 24 hours straight. 

The next thing he knows, Malia is saying his name. Stiles sits up so fast, the room keeps spinning once he stops moving. “What? I’m awake. I’m awake,” he says as his heart pounds wildly in his chest. He wipes a hand over his face and look around frantically before he realizes that she’s only moved as far as the edge of the bed. Stupidly, he stares at her back for another fifteen seconds until it suddenly tenses and she makes a sound that’s a cross between a cry and the sound an animal would make right before it went in for the kill. “ _Shit_ ,” he curses as he scrambles across the bed and then slides to his feet. “ _Fuck_. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.” 

Malia doesn’t open her eyes as she rocks back and forth, making that same noise over and over again. Stiles drops to his knees in front of her. “What do you need? What can I do? Should I get Melissa?” He rests his hand on her knee, and then yanks it away just as quickly when her skin is clammier than he expected, and the fabric of her shorts is wet. “You’re wet,” he says, a little dumbfounded. “Why are you wet?”

She finally opens her eyes, looking down to the pair of his boxers that are now darker on the lower half. “I don’t know.” 

Stiles pats his own legs down to find that the leg on one side of his shorts is damp, then glances behind him to find an obvious wet spot on the sheets where Malia was a few minutes ago. As it finally clicks, he feels like he might throw up, but he’s not sure if it’s because of excitement or nerves or disgust. He tries to ignore it as he looks back to her. “Mal,” he says gently as he reaches up to rest his palm against her cheek. “I think your water broke.” 

Malia looks up when he touches her cheek, then back down again to her soaked shorts, then back up at him. “It did.” Her eyes widen in a look of panic as she suddenly grabs his arms. “Stiles, she’s coming.” 

He laughs despite himself, nodding. Hell, he’s almost giddy after a day and a half because _finally_ something worked. “I know. It took her f0r-freaking-ever, but-” 

“No,” Malia cuts him off as her back becomes a perfect C, curling forward over the baby. Her body is tense again, a sign that another contraction already started. “She’s coming _now_.” 

“Now? _Now_ now?” She nods again before crying out, this time sounding far more animal than human. Stiles forgets to coach her through it as his heart beats wildly in his chest and his stomach sinks to somewhere near his feet. “Oh my god. Okay. Hold on.” 

He moves to get back to his feet, but her hand clamps down on his wrist again, and it’s okay because honestly, he didn’t trust his feet anyway.”It’s okay,” he tells her before leaning towards the door again. “Hey, Melissa!?” 

He can hear her feet on the stairs almost immediately, which is a relief, he thinks, because _holy shit_ , this is it. 

\----

There’s a knock on the door just before dawn, and Stiles leaves Malia curled on her side in the middle of the bed to find his dad in the hallway. He looks _old_ in the same way Stiles feels _old_ as he shoves a water bottle and two Adderall into Stiles’s hands. And that’s when Stiles realizes the date on the calendar has changed two times since Malia went into labor. 

It’s some time in the next half hour that he realizes 1) today is going to be their daughter’s birthday and 2) he can no longer feel his knees. 

The upside to losing all feeling in his knees is that the rugburns he got while on all fours with her for most of the night no longer sting. But it only registers in the back of his mind that _Hey, these feel pretty numb_ , so maybe it’s not much of an upside after all. For some reason, though, his hyperactive brain is very aware of the fact that his heart is banging against his ribcage while it simultaneously throbs in his ears, and maybe that should be a concern. Downstairs, his dad’s voice seems to be louder than everyone else’s as Stiles catches words and phrases and sometimes whole questions directed at Melissa who disappeared shortly after they called her upstairs, announcing that Malia had _just a little lip_ left and promising to be right back. And if his timing is right, they’re heading into the last contraction that will happen during this song as Fleetwood Mac promises _Thunder only happens when it’s raining_ again on Allison’s iPod. There’s irony there somewhere, in hearing that song in Hour 35 of the longest two days of his life, but Stiles is too tired to find it. 

As if on cue, Malia moans and curls around the pup bump. A half hour ago, she started shaking uncontrollably, and her whole body continues to vibrate against his hands now, as he keeps one on her belly as it tightens and one her lower back. When she cries out again, Stiles jumps back into action.

”You’ve got this, Mal,” he tries to coach her. “You got this. Just blow.” Stiles does it first, blowing exaggeratedly in the same way Melissa had showed Malia when Malia complained about feeling pressure. She follows his lead, her own breathing more forced and faster until she cries out a second time.

“She’s coming,” she insists. “She’s coming _now_. I wanna push.” 

“Whoa. Slow down.” He moves his hand from her bump to her cheek, but her eyes stay squeezed shut. “ Melissa told you to wait. It’s been what? 35 hours? You can handle a few more minutes.” 

Her eyes fly open in order to flash blue as she bares her teeth. Stiles holds his hands up in a show of surrender, but her fight is already leaving as the contraction ends. The tension leaves her body too, and the shaking seems to magnify until her teeth chatter. And just over a minute later, the cycle starts all over again. What he's not prepared is the low, almost animalistic sound she makes as she curls forward over her bump and her knees gently fall apart. 

“Malia?” He leans down to see her face, half expecting to find blue eyes or bared fangs. Instead, her eyes are still squeezed shut and she’s biting down hard on her bottom lip. “Are you shifting?” 

Again, she shakes her head without opening her eyes. “Pushing.” 

“No, no, no, no, no! Just wait!” His eyes dart from her to the doorway where there’s still no sign of Melissa, then back to Malia who is still hunched over, her back still tense beneath his hand. For a split second, she relaxes and takes a deep breath, but then she tenses again with a moan that sounds like the opposite of waiting. “Hey Melissa?” he yells as he looks back towards the open door, _still_ finding no sign of her. “She wants to push!” 

“Okay, okay. I’m here.” Melissa breathlessly appears in the doorway, towels in hand, and Malia and Stiles’s shoulders sag in unison under the weight of their shared relief. 

“Oh thank God,” Stiles sighs as he lets his hand fall away from Malia’s back so she can lean back against the headboard. “Pretty sure she stopped waiting.” 

“Well let’s see where you’re at, okay?” 

Malia nods in agreement as she tries to catch her breath. Melissa works quickly, settling on the bed right in front of Malia and gently nudging her legs just a little farther apart. When her hand dips between Malia’s legs, Stiles eyes roll towards the ceiling one last time because as common as this has become in the course of the last day and a half, those are still the same hands that tucked him into Scott’s top bunk on nights when his dad had to work late, and it still feels like some vulnerable moment of Malia’s he stumbled upon but wasn’t really supposed to see. Still, he manages to take her hand in his own and at least pretend to be supportive. 

“Okay,” Melissa announces a few seconds later. Stiles looks back to find her hands now resting much more safely against her own thighs as she offers Malia a warm smile. “You’re ready. Time to push.” 

His eyes grow wide, and he ends up gripping Malia’s hand tighter than she’s currently holding his own. “Are you serious?” 

Melissa nods. “She’s at ten. Baby’s ready. This is it.” 

Stiles pumps his fist in a silent victory cheer and presses an excited kiss to the side of Malia’s temple. “You hear that? This is it!” 

Malia opens her eyes in order to glare at him. “I’m gonna kill you.” 

There’s a moment of consideration before he agrees with a shrug of his shoulders. “That’s fair. I would’ve killed me two days ago.” He thinks he catches Melissa snort from the end of the bed where she’s rearranging things in a way that might push him into panic attack territory if he pays too much attention. Luckily for him, Malia tenses again, arching her back away from the headboard as she groans. “What can I do, Mal?” he asks as he pushes the hair that’s fallen loose from her bun back behind her ear. “What do you need?” 

“I need her out!” she cries as she curls in on herself again, groaning in a way that doesn’t sound like waiting. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. She’s coming out. You’re gonna get her out,” he promises as he moves his hand back to the middle of her back to help her hold herself up. “We’re gonna do this right now.” 

“Oh, she’s really coming. And it looks like she’s coming _fast_ now that she made up her mind,” Melissa chimes in from between Malia’s legs. Stiles looks down before he can stop himself, then quickly looks away in favor of staying on his feet. From this angle, he can’t see anything yet, but it’s the unspoken threat of what he _could’ve_ seen that makes his stomach somersault. Or maybe that’s just his nerves. “Alright, Stiles,” Melissa continues, catching his attention. “You’re gonna help.” 

There’s never a moment when the realization of what’s about to happen steals his breath. He keeps waiting for the suckerpunch force of the fact that he’s about to become a _father_ to hit him for the first thirty hours. After that, he’s too tired to care. And when that moment finally arrives, he’s too much a part of it. Busy listening to Melissa explain that he’s going to keep his hand on Malia’s back to help hold her exhausted body up, then learning where to place his hand beneath her knee to guide it towards her shoulder when she pushes. Busy watching Malia, wishing not for the first time that his human senses could pick up on the same chemosignals the rest of the pack thrives on so he could know what was happening beneath her stoic facade. There’s no time to think about the anxious energy welling up inside him. 

“Okay, Malia,” Melissa says gently when Malia gasps in a way that indicates the pain is back. “Take a deep breath and _push_.” Just as he begins to pull her leg back towards her body, though, Stiles feels Malia’s claws against the back of his hand. 

“Wait,” he says quickly to Melissa before bending down closer to Malia. Her body shudders in a way that’s distinctly different from the shaking that’s become somewhat of the norm. “Mal?” In response, she cries out in pain, but the sound becomes more of a whine, and then a low growl that vibrates against his palm. “Hey, I’m right here,” he says as he keeps his hand beneath her own so that her claws sink into the back of his hand instead of her thigh. “Just listen to my voice. You gotta stay human for her.” 

“I’m trying,” she insists in an almost-whine. The sound is followed by another low growl, and her eyes open to reveal a brilliant blue. 

“And you’re doing _so_ good. It’s almost over. You just have to hang on a little longer.” Malia tries to nod, but stops as her legs pull towards her body as she gives in to the desire to push, then shudders again with the warning of a shift. And Stiles can’t just stand there and watch her volley between the two. He leans forward and presses his lips against hers in a last ditch effort to anchor her. She startles at first, but then she kisses him back with an urgency he recognizes from past shifting spells and a surprising amount of energy, given her current state. When he pulls back, her eyes have returned to their normal brown, and there’s no more growling. “You’re amazing,” he sighs, resting his forehead against her own. 

She has just enough time to catch her breath before the next contraction begins. He can feel the way it creeps back into her body as she folds in on herself, like the baby has become a magnet every part of her is drawn towards. “You ready?” he asks gently when she groans, and she nods quickly in response. “C’mon. You’ve got this,” he coaches as he watches her face twist into first a grimace of effort, then a grimace of pain. “Go, baby, go!” 

He watches her do this a half dozen times, offering a string of encouraging words every time. Her hand that isn’t supporting her other leg ends up fisted in the front of his t-shirt at some point, so he ends up with his forehead pressed against her temple when she yanks. The fabric digs into the back of his neck but he doesn’t even notice as he focuses on her instead, watching as she brings their daughter into the world.

On the seventh contraction, Malia suddenly cries out in a way he wasn’t prepared for. “I know,” Melissa croons in sympathy. “Lots of pressure. But you have to push through it.” 

Malia grits her teeth and curls forward in a way that Stiles can only assume means she’s pushing through whatever _it_ is, but then cries out again. His instinct wins out that time, and he looks down between her legs. By the time he realizes his own mistake, he’s caught his first glimpse of dark, dark hair. “Holy shit,” he says, unable to look away as that tiny sliver grows a little bigger. “Is that her head?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Melissa’s nod. “She’s right there. Almost done, Malia.” 

Malia’s only response is a sigh when the current contraction comes to an end, and she becomes as limp as a ragdoll in his arms. “Hey,” he says gently as he lets go of her leg in favor of cupping her chin in his palm. “I can see her. Her head’s right there.” A giddy kind of energy swells inside of him. Combined with his heightened anxiety, he feels like his heart might explode if it beats any faster. He also feels like he might lose it if he can’t move, but he settles for rubbing slow circles against her back again. “She has hair. Dark hair. _Crazy_ dark hair. Like -” 

“Shut up, Stiles,” she cuts him off as she tenses and begins to bear down again. 

“I love you,” he says instead. She quickly yanks on the front of his shirt, and he only just barely manages to catch himself less than a centimeter before his forehead would have crashed into hers. “Okay, got it. Shutting up.” 

Instead of continuing with what he had felt was a pretty successful attempt at cheerleading, he cranes his neck to see what he can of the action down below when she has him tethered by her hand on the neckline of his shirt. He catches a second quarter-sized glimpse of that dark hair, his dark hair. His exhausted eyes burn with the silent threat of tears, but they remain locked on the slow progress taking place between her legs. He doesn’t look away when her groaning becomes more pain-filled and less effort-driven, or when he gives up on his vow of silence during her third push of that contraction to continue to encourage her. And he’s still watching this time when she relaxes back into his arms, shaking and sweating, and all of her efforts suddenly disappear. 

“Wait. No, no, no,” he says in anxious frustration as he looks back up at Melissa. “Why’s she going back in? She’s supposed to be _coming out_.” 

“She _needs_ to come out,” Malia argues. 

“It’s okay. It’s normal,” Melissa reassures them both, offering Malia a sympathetic look and Stiles a _look_. “She is coming. Your body is doing exactly what it’s supposed to. Just come right back at it and try to move her farther this time.” 

His heart swells as he watches Malia nod in determination before pushing again, but after a day and a half of hard labor and barely any sleep, determination only gets her so far. The baby peekaboos four more times and leaves Malia a little more worn out each time. It’s not long before frustrated tears spill down her cheeks when the baby recedes a fifth time. 

“Next one,” he tells her when she stops to catch her breath, trying to discreetly use his thumb to wipe away her tears. “You’re gonna do it. She’s right there. Okay?” Malia nods quickly as her grip on his t-shirt tightens in warning. 

A few seconds later, she howls and arches her back away from him. “She’s crowning,” Melissa announces. 

“Oh _shit_ ,” Stiles says, eyes wide as he once again finds himself unable to look away. 

“Okay, this is the hardest part -” 

“You mean THAT _wasn’t_?” he asks incredulously. 

“Just breathe for right now,” Melissa explains as she ignores Stiles’s comment in favor of focusing on the actual patient. “Let her come on her own.” 

Malia begins to shake her head in protest, but her vocalized response is buried beneath another cry of pain. “No. Hey. Just breathe,” he tells her before beginning to pant exaggeratedly in the way Melissa demonstrated. 

“I want her _out_.” 

“I know. She’s coming,” he tells her with an emphatic nod. He tries to keep his eyes on her as he steals glances at her progress every so often, and she tries to pant her way through the pain. “I can see her. This is awesome.” He laughs, part in disbelief and part because the alternative is a sob, and turns back to her, brushing her hair away from her sweaty cheek. “So gross, but seriously so awesome.” She forces a smile that looks more like a grimace, then gives up when she cries out again. “It’s okay,” he says as he looks back down to find significantly more progress being made. “You’re doing it, you’re doing it. Oh. _Oh_. Oh _God_.” 

There’s suddenly blood where there wasn’t any before, and Stiles pales as all of his own blood rushes away from his head. With a groan, he buries his face against her clammy neck and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to acknowledge the fact that his vision has gone dark around the edges. 

Malia trembles against him as she groans again, but the sound and Melissa’s earnest cheer that follow sound like they’re underwater.

“Good girl, Malia. Her head’s out,” Melissa says, words partially lost beneath the sound of Malia’s gasping breath, and it registers somewhere in the very back recesses of his mind. “Just one more big push - You okay, Stiles?” 

At the sound of his own name, he snaps up. “I’m fine,” he says with a shake of his head because he’s made it too far to miss this now, ringing in his ears be damned. Still woozy, he makes it to about Malia’s forehead before he finds himself leaning against her again as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. 

Malia makes one last pain-filled noise that happens just a little too close to his eardrum, and he yanks his head back. 

“Okay, here she comes,” Melissa says.

Stiles’s brain is too filled with cotton to think of one last encouraging thing to say as Malia bears down for the last time, but she doesn’t need it. She grits her teeth and pulls hard on the front of his shirt, and suddenly, there’s _four_ people in the room.

“Oh my god.” Tears immediately slide down his face as he watches the baby slip into Melissa’s arms, tiny and wet and wrinkled. “Oh my god. She’s here. You did it,” he says, his voice half the volume it’s been for the past half hour as he tried to shout over Malia. “You did it. She’s here.” 

Melissa gives the baby’s tiny back a firm pat, and she lets out a strong, loud wail. Stiles makes a sound that is mostly a laugh and then becomes a hiccuping kind of sob when the tiny cry is followed by a collective cheer from downstairs. And Malia, who should have no energy left, is reaching for the baby before Melissa even moves to settle her in her mother’s arms with a warm smile and a soft, “Congratulations.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” Malia gasps softly as she rests back against Stiles’s arm, staring down into that tiny face. “Hi.” 

He shakes with silent sobs as he keeps his arm around her and his eyes locked on the baby in her arms. She’s _tiny_ \- so tiny that he’s half-tempted to ask Melissa where the rest of her is. She’s a little ball in Malia’s arms right now, one tiny hand spread out like a tiny star against her chest, but Stiles can already tell she has long legs like her mother’s and a head full of thick, dark hair to match his own. He’ll spend the next two days trying to figure out where every single one of her tiny features came from but for now, he just wants to memorize her nose and her mouth and her little pink tongue that makes an appearance every time she wails. 

Malia raises her hand to stroke one tiny, tiny cheek with two of her fingers. “Look at her.”

“I know.” He clears his throat, but his heart manages to stay lodged there. He uses the crook of his free arm to wipe at his tears before leaning back down to press a kiss to the top of Malia’s head. “She’s incredible.” 

“That really hurt,” Malia murmurs without ever looking away from the baby. 

Her confession tugs at his heart, but he can’t help but laugh before leaning down to press another kiss to her temple. . “I know. But it’s over now. And you were amazing.” 

His words seem to fall on deaf ears as Malia remains entranced by the infant in her arms while she offers their daughter her finger and the baby immediately responds by gripping it tightly. The world as a whole seems to melt away for Malia, with the exception of the baby - at least, until Melissa covers the baby’s tiny back with a towel and begins to clear her even tinier nose and mouth. Malia tenses beside him, and he can almost feel the low growl beginning to brew. 

“She’s okay, right?” he jumps in first when the baby stops crying and instead makes a sound that resembles choking. His heart might literally stop at the sound, but Melissa doesn’t seem to even really notice as she suctions the baby’s tiny mouth one more time. 

“She’s perfect,” she insists with a reassuring smile. “We’re just gonna get her cleaned up.” 

A second growl builds, starting in the back of Malia’s throat. Before she has the chance to bear her teeth or growl a little more obviously, Stiles intervenes, gesturing towards the baby. “Can I?” 

“Of course,” Melissa says without hesitation, moving her own hand back to her lap. “She’s yours.” 

Fresh tears well in his eyes as Melissa’s words ring in his head because the only thing harder to comprehend than the fact that he just watched this perfect little thing come _out_ of Malia is that she’s his _daughter_. Gingerly, he rubs the towel against her tiny body, heart pounding as he feels for the first time just how small she really is. She trembles against Malia with each wail, but after a few more heart-wrenching cries, she stops in favor of making a sniffling sound as she stares up at him with enormous grey-blue eyes. 

“Hey, Madden,” he says softly, voice breaking over her carefully chosen name. “We’re glad you finally decided to come out of there.” In response, she lets out a hiccup of a sob as she continues to stare up at him, and he doesn’t think he’s ever loved anything this much in his entire life. Except for maybe her mother. 

Malia’s breathing doesn’t come in small gasps anymore by the time he’s finished drying the baby off, but she still shakes against Stiles as he holds her. She’s mostly quiet in her baby-induced trance, and he can only see her thoughtful expression in profile, which makes it mostly unreadable. He has no idea what’s going on in that head or heart of hers, and he suddenly can only think about knowing.

“Hey,” he says gently, and she immediately tips her chin up to look back at him. But there are no words to adequately explain how he feels after the past 36 hours. Instead, his face breaks out into a goofy grin, and he leans down to kiss her. It’s a short, chaste kiss that ends when she pulls away to catch her breath, and then immediately turn her attention back to the newborn in her arms. She raises her hand to gently brush the baby’s tiny cheek with the back of two of her fingers, and she’s still quiet.“You okay?” he asks softly as his hand begins those same slow circles against her back that he tried to calm her with less than an hour ago. 

She nods without hesitating or pulling her eyes away from the baby in her arms. “Are you?” 

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” he says with a giddy laugh. Madden grows still again in Malia’s arms at the sound of his voice, and he realizes his mistake under the weight of her gaze. “Oh shit. _Oh my god._ I’m so sorry.” Even as he says it, he doesn’t know if he’s apologizing to Malia or the baby, but Malia doesn’t even seem to notice his slip-up. 

“She has your hair,” she says instead as she smooths it down over the baby’s tiny head. “And your nose.” 

He forces down another sob as he takes in her dark brown hair and her tiny, slightly flat nose. “Maybe we should wait on that one. Till, y’know, she didn’t just spend two and a half days in your birth canal.” 

Malia whips her head around so quickly to look at him, he instinctively pulls back. “No. She looks like you. It’s perfect.” 

Stiles loses that battle, and that sob comes out as a hiccup somewhere between a cry and a laugh. Words fail him for a second time in his exhausted, emotional state. He leans down closer and cups the back of her head before kissing her again, just a little deeper and a little longer. And then they pull apart again to continue memorizing tiny features and tiny hands and tiny cries. 

He honestly forgets Melissa’s even there until she says his name, pulling him away from his new little family. She holds up a pair of scissors where she's still sitting on the bed. “Do you want to do the honors?” 

Cutting the cord is something he's been vehemently against since he found out it was a dad thing. He had planned to stay sitting and not watch anything that happened between Malia’s legs and maybe even step out of the room for everything that came afterwards, also known as the parts of the book that literally made him gag. But in the moment, after having already mentally declared watching Madden slip into the world the best thing he's ever seen, Stiles gets a little too cocky. 

He glances back at Malia, but his girlfriend is still a part of that smaller, sweeter world where only Madden exists. Without her there to remind him that he swore to never do this, he nods in response to Melissa and moves farther down the bed. The act itself is fine and over much quicker than it should be, considering that he just permanently separated the two girls from each other. It's after he's done as he's handing the scissors back that he catches a glimpse of the amount of blood between Malia’s legs. 

“Hey, uh, Melissa?” He continues to stare, despite the fact that it's making his knees buckle. He tries to sound calm and collected, even though he's now convinced himself that's at least half Malia’s blood volume swiftly exiting her body, but his voice is just a tad too high to sound calm or collected when he asks, “Is that normal?” 

“Totally normal.” Melissa’s calm. She spreads another towel under Malia, swaps the towel around the baby for a drier one, even pauses long enough to take in this moment between mother and daughter. Stiles has seen her get more worked up over the Sunday morning crossword puzzle than this. Unfortunately, that calm isn’t contagious. “This is just her body getting ready to deliver the placenta,” Melissa explains, like that somehow makes it better instead of giving Stiles’s eyes another reason to almost roll back in his head. 

“Oh. Right. Just the placenta,” he echoes, mostly to himself. There’s already blood on the new towel. Melissa’s entire hand suddenly disappears. And Stiles’s vision goes black. 

\----

Madden Scottie Stilinski takes her sweet time. She waits until two weeks past her due date, and then it’s another marathon 36 hours before she arrives. But the second all seven pounds and five ounces of her are placed in Malia’s waiting arms, Malia can’t remember why she ever feared this moment. 

Maybe it helps that she looks like Stiles, with that mess of dark hair and that tiny nose Malia knows isn’t just the aftereffect of Madden’s slow, _slow_. entrance into the world. Maybe it helps, too, that it’s been two and a half days since Malia’s labor started, leaving her too tired to do most things, one of which might be worrying. Or maybe Stiles was just right all along, each time he’d tell her she was already a mother, even if it didn’t feel like it when all she was doing was sucking it up and going to every doctor’s appointment. Whatever it is, it takes Malia all of a minute to wonder what she ever did before Madden was in their lives. 

Stiles recovers quickly after he passes out before the baby’s even twenty minutes old. By the time he’s staggering back to his feet, Melissa has mostly cleaned up the evidence of Malia’s labor, and she somehow convinces Stiles to take a seat on the bed beside Malia while he recovers. And neither of them moves for that first hour. Malia fell in love with Madden the moment she laid her eyes on her, but she falls in love with Stiles again, too, in some new, unexpected way the moment he takes the baby in his arms. He smells anxious and worried, and he stays pretty stiff as the newborn dozes off against his chest, but he cries, too, and she thinks she might understand those tears of joy. 

When the baby starts to fuss, Melissa shows Malia how to nurse her, and Madden, despite all of the headaches she’s already caused, is a pro. She also loves being held skin-to-skin when Malia rests her gently against the place on her chest where the tiny baby will still be able to hear her heartbeat, and she hates to be free of the swaddle Melissa wraps her up in afterwards, but loves the herbal bath she takes with Malia that comes via recommendation from Deaton. Settling back into their bed afterwards, Malia swears she’s never felt better, but Stiles insists she’s running on adrenaline and the high that must come with beginning to heal. 

In the second hour, Madden begins to meet the pack. The Sheriff is first, and Stiles’s eyes are already a little wet when he pulls away from his father’s embrace. Malia doesn’t mind when Stiles lifts the baby from where she’s been sleeping against Malia’s chest to meet his dad instead, which is why it catches even her off guard when Stiles offers the baby to his father, and a low growl vibrates in Malia’s chest. 

Both men freeze with the baby still resting in Stiles’s hands. Stiles looks at her wide-eyed, but his dad simply holds up his hands. “It’s okay. I can wait.” 

“No,” Stiles argues in the tone he’s used for years to teach Malia lessons. “We need to learn how to share.” As he says it, he gently eases the baby back into his dad’s arms. And even though Malia loves Stiles’s dad, has come to think of him as the closest family she has after Stiles, seeing her baby transferred to _someone else’s_ arms where she’ll pick up _someone else’s_ scent makes her want to ready her claws. It’s unexpected and not something she understands, but she’d be ready to take the baby back herself if she didn’t already know how far the walk across the room was when she ached this much. But Stiles sticks by his dad’s side long enough to make sure Madden’s not going to start fussing before he slips back onto the bed beside Malia and wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders. 

“Is this okay?” his dad cautiously asks after enough time has passed for Malia to relax back into Stiles’s half-embrace, and she nods. His dad doesn’t have to be told twice before he focuses back on the baby, one hand cradling her head and one hand supporting her body so he can stare down into her tiny face. “So this is the pup, huh?” 

Stiles beams at the use of the nickname. “Her name’s Madden. And she’s tail free.” 

“Madden,” his dad repeats, smiling warmly down at the baby. “I like that.” The baby makes an unhappy sound, and Malia tenses again, but doesn’t growl this time. His dad moves cautiously as he shifts the baby to rest against his chest, and she calms down. “I just hope,” he continues then with a look in Stiles’s direction, “that you didn’t name my granddaughter after a video game.” 

Malia gets more used to the idea of someone else holding their baby as time goes on. Stiles recounts the baby’s stats to his dad and both Stiles and Malia take turns sharing the few things they’ve learned about the baby in the little time they’ve had to get to know her. At one point, his dad says that she looks like Stiles’s mom, and both Stilinski men tear up, making Malia wonder if she should even be there to witness that moment. Eventually, though, there’s an ache in her empty arms that leaves her feeling agitated, like she might growl again if she’s not able to scent her baby one more time. 

His dad must sense it, too, because it’s only a few minutes later when he admits that he should give her back and let someone else have a turn. He gently places the baby back into her mother’s arms, but he pauses for a second, pulling Malia into a hug of her own. “She’s beautiful,” he tells her without letting go just yet. “I’m so proud of you two.” 

Malia doesn’t know what to say, but she hugs him back a little harder and promises herself to try harder not to growl the next time he wants to hold the baby. 

Scott is next because even before he was the alpha, he was basically a brother to Stiles. “ _Dude,_ ” he greets them with a giddy laugh and shining eyes that give away his crying before she even catches his scent. “You have a _baby_.” 

“ _Dude_ ,” Stiles echos. “It’s so weird.” 

This time, Scott approaches Malia to take the baby, and her hold on Madden tightens a little at first before Stiles coaxes her to share once again. But Scott points out what Stiles’s dad couldn’t. 

“It makes sense,” he thinks aloud once the baby is in his arms. “It’s like your her alpha. You just want to protect her.” Madden squirms in his arms, and all three of them immediately focus their attention back on her. But she only wants to get her fist free from her swaddle, and then she just blinks sleepily up at Scott. Scott laughs a little as he takes her little fist in his hand. “She’s real cute.” He focuses on her tiny hand for another moment before he looks back over at Stiles and Malia. “Has she done anything yet?” 

Beside Malia, Stiles scoffs. “Yeah, man. She was born.” 

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, like has she done anything supernatural? Like little claws? Glowing eyes?” 

“Scott, I don’t think she even realizes she’s not inside Malia anymore,” Stiles says. 

Malia, on the other hand, sits up a little straighter and leans forward just slightly, like maybe she’ll be able to see Madden’s tiny fingernails from here. As much as she loves that the baby looks so much like Stiles, the idea of having someone else in the pack who’s just like her - at least supernaturally - almost makes her ache.

“Do you think she can?” she asks. 

Scott shrugs. “I don’t know. Do you wanna try?” 

She doesn’t know what trying entails, but she finds herself nodding anyways. Scott repositions the baby in his arms, a little more coordinated than Stiles but not as smoothly as the Sheriff, so that he’s staring down into her little face. But before he can do anything more, Stiles is scrambling off the bed. “Hold up. She’s literally _an hour_ old, plus I think we can all agree her journey here was a little traumatic for all of us. So can we hold off on growling at her?” 

“I won’t growl, I promise.” Scott looks back at Malia, almost like he knows what this means to her, and she nods in solidarity. He nods back, just once, and then he stares back down at the baby. He waits a beat, and then he lets his eyes glow their alpha red while Malia holds her breath, waiting to see what the baby will do. But all Madden does is open her little mouth in a wide yawn, like she’s not impressed. 

Beside Scott, Stiles laughs, and then Malia joins in. “What a little badass,” Stiles declares. 

“She’ll figure it out,” Scott replies. 

Knowing that they’ll have to help her doesn’t terrify Malia as much as she expected it to. 

By the end of the hour, the entire pack is crammed into Stiles’s tiny bedroom. It makes Malia anxious at first, with the vulnerable feeling that lingers after giving birth when Stiles keeps insisting she stay confined to their bed, but as time goes on, she feels too tired to fight. Plus, Stiles stopping her from getting up is still less embarrassing than Stiles forcing Liam to sit down with a pillow propping up his elbow to hold the baby, even as he argues that he’s not a child. Allison takes a turn, too, with tears in her eyes just like Scott, and Lydia jumps at the chance to take the baby, only after hugging Malia first and congratulating her on becoming a mom, which leaves Malia’s heart feeling full. 

Stiles gets good at recognizing when that nervous energy starts to settle beneath her skin and her arms ache for Madden’s weight again. He settles into a pattern of easing the baby out of the arms of a pack member and back into Malia’s so that she can memorize her scent one more time before she meets the next person. It’s in one of those sweet lulls, between Allison and Lydia, when Malia has her own baby cradled against her chest that Stiles starts sharing details about her birth, and Malia’s too in love with the tiny being in her arms to think to stop him. Which is good because otherwise, she wouldn’t have learned then that she loves hearing him recount the story, especially the way his voice breaks when he talks about seeing their baby for the first time. 

“And now, we have Madden,” he ends with a shrug of his shoulders, like it’s already the most normal thing in the world.

“So is her middle name 2016?” Lydia asks from where she’s been gently rocking the baby on the opposite side of the room since about two thirds of the way through Stiles’s storytelling. It hasn’t been long enough for Malia to start to get anxious, just long enough for Stiles to make some comment to Derek about how _if he’s not careful, Lydia’s going to want one, too_. (Derek just shrugged). 

“Okay, okay,” Stiles says as he slides off the bed again, motioning with his hands. “Why don’t you give me my kid back now?” 

Lydia rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue as she meets Stiles in the middle and gently eases the baby back into his arms. “And this is why,” he tells the baby, “we don’t listen to Aunt Lydia.” 

Stiles barely turns around to head back to the bed though when Derek places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Actually, can I?” 

Derek looks first at Stiles, but then quickly looks to Malia, like he might’ve picked up on her need to keep the baby close the same way Scott did. Malia nods, but Stiles looks back at her before pulling the baby a little closer to his own shoulder. “Or we could wait till she’s bigger?” The room as a whole grows quiet, all eyes on Stiles. “What?” he asks exasperatedly, looking around the room before focusing solely on Malia. “Have you seen his arms?! She’s tiny!” 

The pack laughs at Stiles’s expense, but Malia feels that fullness in her heart again as she watches the way Stiles’s gingerly cradles the baby, not quite as stiff and awkward as before, but still so cautious. “It’s okay,” she tells him. “He’s family.” 

It feels good to watch Derek hold the baby, too. Stiles has his dad and Scott and Lydia, and she has them, too, but they belonged to Stiles long before they belonged to her. But Derek _is_ her family, and she wants to share this with him. 

He’s gentle with her as he moves her into the crook of his arm, bending down to take in her scent the same way Scott and Liam already did. Stiles eventually relaxes enough to take a step back, but still lingers on his feet in a way that she finds equal parts ridiculous and endearing. “So, Madden, huh?” Derek eventually asks when he looks up from the sleeping baby. “How’d you guys pick that?” 

Stiles practically beams as he motions back towards Malia. “It was Malia’s idea.” 

“It means ‘little dog,’” Malia explains. “That’s why we picked it. And her middle name’s Scottie.” 

“After her alpha,” Stiles says with a wave in Scott’s direction. “So she always knows she belongs to the pack.” 

“It’s perfect,” Allison says, tears welling in her eyes again because it’s been a long two days for all of them. 

“Yeah,” Scott echos at her side. “You guys did good. And,” he continues with a wave in Stiles’s direction. “You made it through. I can’t believe you didn’t go down.” 

“He did,” Malia corrects. The baby freed her hand from her swaddle again and then regretted it, so Derek is placing her back in Malia’s arms. She misses the way Stiles tenses, the way his dad snorts, the collective quiet that descends on the pack again. 

“After,” Stiles adds a second later. “I might’ve gone down after.” 

Melissa helps to fix the baby’s swaddle because neither Malia or Stiles is very good at tucking the blanket beneath Madden just right yet, and then Melissa wants her own turn holding the baby when she’s not actively helping the baby into the world. But Malia’s energy is waning, her eyes growing too heavy for even her inner coyote, and it’s not long before there’s an unspoken agreement amongst their pack that they could all use some sleep. And then it’s just the three of them again, in that new, weird way. 

“I don’t know how you’re still sitting up,” Stiles sighs as he sinks back against the headboard beside her, Madden nursing one last time because she decided she was hungry just as Stiles laid her down in her bassinet. “Like, I think dying is preferable to this, and I didn’t even give birth to her.” 

Malia makes a soft noise that’s meant to be affirmative. Her hips ache. Her thighs ache, and the space between them. Her whole lower half still feels sore from the workout she gave to muscles she didn’t know she even had. She’s used to healing - and healing fast - but Deaton warned her that this would take some time, and so far, he wasn’t kidding. But Madden’s tiny fist comes up to rest against her bare skin, and the pain is immediately forgotten. 

Stiles’s shoulder brushes against her own as he scoots closer so he can see the baby too. It’s so quiet, aside from Madden’s soft sucking, that Malia thinks he might’ve fallen asleep until he speaks again. “She’s incredible.” 

“I know.” 

“You’re incredible, too,” he murmurs sleepily before pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Like, I just…” He stops talking again, and she thinks he might have managed to fall asleep mid-sentence, but then his entire body shakes beside her under the weight of a deep, ragged breath. 

She looks over at him in concern to see tears in his eyes for the umpteenth time today. She’s too tired to sift through his scent, so she reaches for his hand instead, giving it a tiny squeeze. Stiles laughs, wiping at his face with his entire forearm. “I’m just really tired,” he finishes. 

“Me too.” 

“But I think this is gonna be good,” he says as he rests back against her, his temple brushing hers. “I think this is gonna be really good. 

\---- 

There’s one week left of summer, and all he wants is to be at home. Lydia and Derek are soaking up these last long days of sun at the lakehouse before she’s off to Stanford. Scott takes a break from chasing this seemingly endless alpha track in the woods to sleep in and move Allison back in to her apartment. Liam and Mason haven’t been seen, which Stiles can only assume means they’re shacking up somewhere together. But all Stiles wants is to be home with his girls. 

It’s a tough first week, this whole parenting thing. They master the swaddle, but literally nothing else. Actually, that’s not true - Malia masters the nursing thing and the diaper change thing and gets good enough that she can sense when the baby’s hungry before Madden can fly into that frenzied cry that makes it impossible for her to latch on. But before that, there’s a lot of tears from all three of them. There’s a night where his dad eventually takes the baby from Stiles’s arms while he’s pacing the hallway for the millionth time because _everyone in this house needs sleep, and no one’s getting any right now_. There’s an afternoon when they call Melissa in a panic, only to find out that just because the book said it should take a week, Madden’s going to survive the stump of her cord falling off before then. And there’s never enough sleep. 

And Stiles loves every minute of it. 

The house is quiet when he gets back from his trip to the preserve with Scott. His best friend didn’t _really_ need his help taking pictures of the tracks in case they’re gone by the time Derek gets back, but classes start again next week. Malia’s taking the first six weeks off, and her professors are all thankfully on board with her working from home till then. But Stiles will be back in lecture halls next Tuesday, and it was his dad’s idea that Stiles start leaving for small amounts of time to get both Malia and the baby used to him not being there. The last time he tried, he returned from a diaper run to a near meltdown caused by a missing pacifier, so the quiet is definitely good. 

He half expects to find them asleep together, which is why he’s surprised to hear singing when he gets to the top of the stairs. Because that’s a thing in his life now. Of all the things, Malia has taken to singing to the baby to calm her down, which has been surprisingly effective and as freaking precious as it sounds. Today’s choice is The Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun,” and, judging from how otherwise quiet it is, Madden must approve. Stiles follows the sound to the nursery and stops in the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. Malia is in the rocking chair that used to belong to his mom, feet pressed against the ottoman and the baby laying on the incline of Malia’s thighs. 15 credit hours short of graduating, Stiles feels pretty ready to drop out. 

“Oh. Hey,” Malia says when she notices him there, intruding upon their moment. “How’d it go with Scott?” 

“Fine,” Stiles says with a shrug. “How’d it go here? Did she nap?” 

Malia shakes her head. “She nursed twice, but she’s still wide awake.” 

“Well, yeah. What if something exciting happened and she missed it? New pacifier? Tummy time?” He finally walks into the room. Malia moves her feet to the very edge of the ottoman so he can sit there instead. Now that he’s this close, he can hear when Madden lets out a high pitched hiccup, and her entire little body jumps. Stiles laughs. “In her defense, who could sleep through that?” 

Malia bends down to press a kiss to the baby’s forehead, keeping her lips against Madden’s soft skin through two more hiccups. “Lydia says it’ll be easier if we get her on a schedule,” Malia half-sighs when she finally focuses on him again. 

“Yeah, well Lydia’s never had a baby, so stop listening to Lydia. Plus, Melissa say’s Madden probably doesn’t even really realize she’s outside of you yet. She’s too little for a schedule.” 

“That’s what I told her,” Malia says as she bends down a second time, keeping her forehead pressed against the baby’s this time, breathing in her sweet scent. When Stiles doesn’t say anything in response, Malia eventually looks back up to see what must be an awful lot of shock written across Stiles’s face. “What? She’s not her mom. Right, Pup?” 

That last part is directed back down at the baby who coos in agreement, or coos because, at two weeks old, she likes the sound of Malia’s voice. Somewhere across the hall, the Ghost of Malia of Six Weeks Past lingers, eyes flashing blue in the middle of the night because she doesn’t know if what she’s feeling is labor or not, and she’s insistent that this is yet another sign that she shouldn’t be anyone’s mother. And then Madden opens her mouth in a wide _O_ and searches the air with her tongue, and Present-day Malia never misses a beat as she pops a pacifier into the baby’s mouth. 

Stiles leans forward, cupping her chin before he kisses her. He’s still not getting a ton of sleep, and words are hard to come by most of the time, but this works. It lasts maybe twenty seconds before Madden hiccups again. Malia jumps at the sound and accidentally bites down on Stiles’s bottom lip (pretty gently, all things considered), and they pull apart. 

“Man, those hiccups,” Stiles laughs with a shake of his head as he reaches over to rub her full little belly. “They are not your friend, huh?” 

“At least they don’t make her hit my ribs anymore,” Malia sighs. 

“Aw, c’mon, Mal. Her jumping around inside of you was pretty cute. All that tapping? Those little feet sticking out?” Malia levels a look that borders on a glare in his direction. “No? Too soon?” He doesn’t mention the night when Madden was four days old and Malia woke him up in an uncharacteristic display of tears to inform him that she wasn’t pregnant anymore. And when he sleepily (and stupidly) told her she could be pregnant again anytime, she cried harder as she reminded him it wouldn’t be Madden inside of her. “You’re right. These hiccups are much better.” 

As if she just heard his voice, Madden tries to crane her tiny neck to see him over the hill of Malia’s knees. Unfortunately for her, 14 days in the world has left her still pretty inept at the whole head lifting thing, and she just ends up throwing her head a little to the left in Malia’s lap. Her pacifier falls free of her mouth with a tiny _pop_ , and she lets out a frustrated sound that simultaneously breaks Stiles’s heart and makes it feel warm all over. 

“Don’t be like that, Pup,” he croons as he lifts her out of her mother’s lap and positions her on his forearms instead, hands cupping her head. He holds her much less like a football now, but he still struggles to move her into any other position while he’s already holding her. So it’s a good thing she’s been a pretty content baby so far, happy to stay in the same place for as long as someone’s willing to hold her. “I know. These hiccups suck.” He starts to bounce her gently in hopes of helping to end her ailment, then stops abruptly as he looks back over at Malia. “She’s not gonna do that projectile vomiting thing she did last night again, is she?” 

Malia scrunches up her nose in a way that almost resembles a wince. “She did it again after the first time I fed her this morning.” 

“Well, we’re gonna have to nip that in the bud,” Stiles says as he looks back down at the baby. “Cause I definitely don’t do puke, Mads.” The baby’s only response is to squirm and furrow her brows in a way that makes her look so much like Malia, it almost hurts. “God, you’re so cute. I might have to reconsider.” 

Malia leans forward, resting her chin on Stiles’s shoulder so she can see the baby, too. “Reconsider,” she agrees. “We’ll figure it out.” 

There’s still a lot to figure out. The day before when she wasn’t being fed quickly enough, Madden’s eyes flashed amber for a split second, and Derek warned them it’s only a matter of time before she does it again. After leaving her with leaky diapers for a day and then making them so tight they left a red line on her tiny belly the next, Stiles needs a little more practice in changing her, which isn’t easy when she screams bloody murder. In a week, he’ll have to head back to school, and five weeks after that, Malia will, too, and they still don’t really know where Madden will spend her days then. And there’s the issue of Malia’s dad, too, her biological dad. In a moment of new dad weakness, Stiles had texted him Madden’s stats and a picture of both Malia and Madden sleeping side by side. Malia’s been talking to him now, and there’s even been talk about inviting him over to meet the baby, but that’s still something that they need to figure out.

But almost ten months ago, he promised her they would figure it out together, and right now, that still sounds pretty good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come find me on [tumblr](http://kaycares22.tumblr.com/). There may be some things that didn't make it into this final chapter shared over there, and I'm definitely going to be looking for writing prompts in the near future. :)


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